Inverse
by Elesrea
Summary: Dumbledore asks Hermione to carry out a secret mission before the start of her fourth year. "Keep the Time Turner, Miss Granger. I want you to use it to help Mr. Malfoy reevaluate his beliefs. He is now depending on you." HG/DM
1. Mission Impossible

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events.

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Chapter 1: Mission Impossible

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Summer was arriving.

The towers filled with enthusiastic chatter of students, all who were eager to go back home. Final exams were a passable breeze, although the blank look that sat on a few faces proved otherwise. Sunlight poured through the open windows of the stone walls, illuminating the hallways with life.

Hermione stood in front of the large griffin gargoyle on the third floor, her heart beating with excitement. Her third year was finally coming to a close, and after every dramatic turn of meeting Harry's godfather to saving Buckbeak, she was ready for summer.

Clearing her throat, she spoke, "Pixie Puffs."

She watched with childish glee as gargoyle moved aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that would lead to the Headmaster's office. She walked in, trying not to think about the odd choice of password—a breakfast cereal that was often served in the Great Hall.

After stepping out of the stone staircase, she approached the large wooden doors and knocked loudly. The right door opened on its own, allowing Hermione to walk inside.

She gave herself a moment to admire the large circular room. One side was filled from floor to ceiling with thick books, pressed against each other on shelves. She would have probably given her left arm to be able to read through the collection. There was an old, broken looking hat that sat on top of a shelf—she smiled, recognizing it as the old sorting hat made by Godric Gryffindor himself. The high walls were filled with windows, letting the sunlight leak through the glass. Portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses lined the wall underneath—they appeared to be sleeping, a few of them quietly snoring away in their frames. Near the back of the room, perched on a wooden stand was the most beautiful bird Hermione had ever seen; it was covered in fire red feathers, and brilliant gold lined its tail. She gazed at its black eyes with awe, admiring the sheer majestic quality of the magical creature.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore's voice cut through. She turned quickly and spotted her headmaster sitting at his desk, filled with strange devices that puffed out colorful smoke.

"Professor Dumbledore," she greeted, smiling. "I hope I'm not bothering you…"

"Not at all. Please sit." He smiled warmly. "I presume Professor McGonagall sent you?"

She nodded, taking the cushiony red chair that reminded her of the one in the common room. She slid the rather light necklace off her head and placed it on his desk. "I came to return the Time Turner. I'll be dropping Divination and Muggle Studies next year, so I won't be needing it anymore."

There was a soft glint in Dumbledore's blue eyes. He didn't take the instrument from the desk, but rather, regarded her with a curious expression.

"Actually, there is a sudden opportunity that revealed itself, so I was hoping you would hold onto it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Sir?"

"You see Miss Granger," Dumbledore explained. "I know that you are a talented young witch, seeing as Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are constantly in one piece—" she blushed lightly. "—However, there is great danger that looms in the near future, and time is something we all need."

She was still confused. "What are you suggesting, sir?"

He smiled. "I happen to know of a young man who is in need of more time. Specifically, time to reevaluate his beliefs and find the position that he wants for himself. As of now, he is trapped between two walls, walking on the only path that was carved for him. He is in need of a helping hand, you see, and I believe that you are capable of doing so."

Hermione's mind whirled with possibilities. Her first thought automatically went to Harry, but his explanation didn't describe her green-eyed friend at all. She then thought of Ron, but quickly dismissed the idea. Biting the inside of her cheek, she frowned and titled her head in thought.

"Who is this young man that needs more time?" she inquired.

"I believe you know him quite well," Dumbledore paused. "His name is Draco Malfoy."

Her body went stiff and her eyes widened with shock. She had not expected to hear the evil cockroach's name from her Headmaster's mouth.

"So…" she breathed, trying not to jump to conclusions. "You want me to give Malfoy the Time Turner?"

He shook his head softly, confirming her worst fears. "No, Miss Granger. I want you to use the Time Turner to _help _Mr. Malfoy."

She leaned back in disbelief. She would have to die and then be raised from death before ever thinking about willingly helping Malfoy. Her vision blurred with momentary rage as she thought about his horrible attitude for the past three years. She took a steadying breath. It didn't work.

"Professor, I can't," she stressed._ "_He hates me. And I hate him. We'll kill each other! He's the most egotistical, despicable little—"

Dumbledore cut her off with a hand and gave her a stern look. Hermione groaned silently.

"Mr. Malfoy has his own set of issues he deals with. Whether you choose to see it or not, he is a complex young man just like Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. When approaching him, you must put aside your differences and try to see him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is. There is much more to this assignment than it may seem."

"Secondly, You must understand this," he said with a softer tone. "Mr. Malfoy was _taught_ to hate you. He knows of nothing else. From the moment he was born, it's been driven into his head that anything other than a pureblood is lower than him. Now, do you really believe that to be true?"

She furiously shook her head.

"Precisely, Miss Granger. This is the root of blood supremacy. He must be shown that his views are illogical if he is to change."

"Professor, I just… can't," she whispered, trying to hold back the sudden rush of feelings. "The things he says to me… it's terrible. I know it shouldn't let it bother me… but I really can't stand him..."

Dumbledore regarded her for a moment. "Listen carefully," he folded his hands together and lowered them on the desk. "Insults can only hurt you if you believe them to be true. You told me that you do not believe the pureblood ideology. It may be difficult to hear them now, but if you can understand this, those insults will become nothing but mere words. Opinions. Words that hold no meaning because they cannot apply to you once you set your mind on this."

She choked.

It made perfect sense.

Hermione felt her eyes rim with tears. The moments she stepped into Hogwarts, she wanted nothing more than to prove her worth, to show that she was no different even if she was muggle-born. Why did she feel the need to justify her worth in the first place? She never wanted to admit it. To face her weakness. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had believed herself to be lower than them. The insults stung because some part of her thought it was true.

Horrified at the discovery, she closed her eyes, letting the tears spill over. She had thought she was strong, holding her ground against everything Harry and Ron could never fully understand. But in reality, she had fell right into their hands.

The old Headmaster waited patiently for her to recover, sliding over a box of tissues, which she took gratefully.

"I—I thought I didn't believe it," she choked, wiping her cheek. "What is wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," he corrected softly. "The pressure is immense, but you have held your head high and preformed remarkably. And now is the time to let it go. Self assurance does not come overnight, you must consistently ground yourself to your beliefs, it will take time."

She sighed and nodded slowly. Her mind flashed to every moment in class that she raised her hand eager to prove herself, every insult to her blood status, and every time she ran to the bathroom, letting the tears slip out and making a silent oath to prove them all wrong. There would be no need for any of that anymore.

"So what exactly should I do?" she asked quietly, feeling rather tired. "I can't start acting cheerful towards him all of a sudden. Harry and Ron won't have any of it. They hate Malfoy too."

"The Time Turner, Miss Granger," he replied. "No one will see you, and no one will know of your actions other than Mr. Malfoy. There is no specific way to do this, but understand that it will take time and effort, both of which you have mastered to great success. Believe in yourself."

"I just…" she started. "What's the point in trying to help Malfoy change his beliefs in the first place?"

Dumbledore's face turned serious. "It is a matter of life and death my dear. Maybe not entirely physically, but you must try to save his soul."

She wanted to scoff and reply that his soul wasn't worth saving. Shaking her head, she dismissed the evil thought.

"Are you suggesting that Malfoy could—" she stopped her words, not wanting to accuse him of turning into another Voldemort, even if he was Malfoy. "…Well, do something he will regret?"

His eyes sparkled as if she had answered correctly, but his face remained somewhat serious.

"I know a man who was much like Mr. Malfoy in his younger days," Dumbledore revealed. "He didn't have the opportunity to learn the true consequences of his actions until it was too late, and now he lives every day trying to reverse his previous endeavors. You must prevent this. Even if it's just a hint of doubt, you must plant that hesitation in his mind."

Her mind began slowing down. As much as she wanted to shriek in disgust about having to try and talk to Malfoy, _and _get him make better choices in life, she simply couldn't find it in herself to refuse him. Dumbledore was the wisest wizard she knew, and if he suspected something to happen in the future, it wouldn't do her well to ignore his request.

"How long do I have exactly?" she gulped. "To… help Malfoy?"

His lips thinned. "Not long, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed through her nose and picked up the Time Turner again. She gave it an accusatory glance before nodding at Professor Dumbledore.

"I'll try," she whispered, feeling a bit dazed. "Though I don't think I can guarantee much success."

The old wizard gave her a warm smile. "You can. Don't doubt your abilities. And most of all, don't doubt your beliefs."

"I won't," she replied resolutely.

"Now, I'm sure you want to finish packing so you can make it to the end-of-the-year feast. Know that I am very proud of you for taking this mission and I will always be here if you are in need of assistance—or sherbet lemons."

Hermione gave him a small smile and stood from the chair. She slid the Time Turner back on her neck again and tucked it under her robes. It now felt like a heavy weight, constantly reminding her of Malfoy. She bid the headmaster farewell and turned to push the large wooden door open.

"Oh, and Professor?" she turned around, curiosity eating through her chest. "The man you were talking about before, who was in a similar situation to Malfoy... was he able to countermand his mistakes?"

There was a gleam in his eyes, as he seemed to think for a moment. "He was. But I'm afraid; his story will not have a happy ending. Don't allow Mr. Malfoy to follow the same path. He is now depending on you, Miss Granger."

There were bubbles of dread in her chest. She simply nodded and continued her way out of his office.

Excited shouts and conversations filled the hallways, but Hermione felt numb. She mindlessly made her way to the seventh floor and into the Gryffindor Common Room.

She would have to do a lot of thinking this summer.

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A/N: Short first chapter, I know.

Hello dear readers! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, don't fret, the other chapters will be much longer—about twice as long, actually. This is going to be a pretty long multi-chapter fic, seeing as I have _four_ sodding books to go through, probably be in the high double digits. Anywho, I've been playing with the Time Turner idea for a while, and now I've started the first step to a hundred mile journey.

Do note, the build up between Hermione and Draco will be slow and steady. I'm not going to have him fall in love with her by the fifth chapter—we all know Draco is far too stubborn for that.

In any case, please review and tell me what you think!

El


	2. The First Task

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events.

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Chapter 2: The First Task

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The year was not looking good for Hermione. She spent most of her summer at the burrow for good measure and attended the World Quidditch Cup, only for it to be ransacked by death eaters later that night.

She had a surprise encounter with Malfoy in the woods, but the meeting had been sour. Harry and Ron were not making things easier for her, and Malfoy was being an arrogant prat as usual. It was extremely difficult for her to pull the two boys away, but as she did, she realized that he had called her a mudblood again, taunted her, and she hadn't cared. Or maybe she was too concentrated on the fact that there were screaming muggles a short distance away.

Then the Dark Mark was shot into the sky, and the adults erupted in mass panic. Mr. Crouch's house-elf was sacked under the pretense of using a wand and casting the dark mark in the sky—honestly, like she even knew how to do such a thing, and Ron's father was having trouble at the ministry due to a poorly written article.

In short, things were not looking up for her.

The morning after returning to Hogwarts and having the Triwizard Tournament announced, the whole school was buzzing. Hermione begrudgingly began to eat again after finding out about the mass of house-elves making their food. She wanted to do something about the their poor situation, but starving herself just wouldn't do. She needed to think.

Once breakfast was over, McGonagall was standing at the head of their table, handing out their timetables for the year. She took hers with a quick mutter of thanks and scanned the parchment.

Her heart stopped.

There was another neatly printed timetable right under hers. She didn't see a name but knew immediately whom the other schedule belonged to.

Malfoy.

Under his schedule were three words written in elegant script.

_Remember the laws. _

Her mouth went dry, and Hermione did her best to resume breathing. It was unmistakably Dumbledore's handwriting—and his doing. She glanced at McGonagall who had handed her the timetable without a second glance. Was it possible that he had informed her head of house about it?

"Hey Hermione, what's your schedule like?" Ron asked, snatching the paper from her hands before she could react.

"Ron—no, give it back!" she gasped, reaching for the parchment but he pulled it away.

"You dropped Divination for Arithmancy?" he grumbled. "Who's going to help me and Harry with homework? Ah—and no free periods as usual."

Hermione's heart lodged in her throat, but Ron simply handed the sheet back to her with a snort. She took it with shock. Why hadn't Ron said anything? She was sure he would have asked about the second timetable under hers. After giving another glance at the paper, she concluded that it had probably been charmed for her eyes only. Nothing else made sense.

She read through her timetable again, memorizing the classes and finally read through Malfoy's class list. She had double potions with him on Friday, and was enrolled in Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures—much to her surprise. She had assumed he would have dropped the class after the rather dramatic events with Buckbeak and trying his best to get Hagrid sacked last year. Malfoy also had his free period, Wednesday before dinner. It was during the same hours she had History of Magic.

Sighing, she folded the offending piece of parchment and tucked it in her robes. Even though no one could read it, she felt safer with the information stored away.

The Gryffindor tower was bustling with noise as usual. Fred and George were attempting to find some way to participate in the tournament, Lavender and Parvati had already started gossiping about who-knows-what, and Harry and Ron were somewhere in their rooms, unpacking and probably complaining over the fact that Quidditch had been postponed for the year.

It were moments like these Hermione felt that she should have been placed in Ravenclaw, surrounded by other friends who deliberately chose to think about classes tomorrow. She was reading the spell book for grade 4, flipping through each one with relative ease.

She had Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, and Arithmancy with Professor Vector tomorrow. Both classes were something she had no worries about, but her stomach was sinking deeper, and she knew that her solo mission needed to be put into action soon.

Just thinking of Malfoy was giving her a headache. She had run into him twice now, and she had barely been able to hold Harry and Ron back, much less her own annoyance. How was she going to help him? Or have him see that he was making the wrong choices in life? Groaning, she closed the book shut, and decided to formulate a plan. And maybe a few backup plans while she was at it.

Wednesday could not come faster. Malfoy had tried to cause trouble with Hagrid in class, she had intervened for the old game keeper's sake; he sat directly behind her in the twelve student Arithmancy class—she had ignored him to the best of her ability, and to top it off, he had briefly been turned into a ferret by Professor Moody and tossed around like a muggle bouncing ball after almost blasting Harry's ear off.

The moment History of Magic ended, Hermione's stomach was twisted into knots. She mumbled something to Harry and Ron about going to the library and found herself in a deserted hallway. She glanced around, making sure she was truly alone, and slowly pulled the Time Turner from under her robes. Concentrating on breathing, she gave the clock two spins, and watched as the instrument activated, sending her two hours back in time.

Blinking her eyes, she recognized her surroundings. She was currently on the fourth floor, her other self most likely making her way to History of Magic a half hour early. She cast a disillusionment charm on herself and felt her body melt into the background.

Hermione darted through the halls and held her breath. If Malfoy were in the common room, there would be no way she would be able to talk to him. After racking her brain for his timetable, she remembered that he was just finishing Charms**, **and hurriedly ran down to the Professor Flitwick's classroom, arriving just as the large double doors boomed open, revealing the Slytherin and Ravenclaw students.

Malfoy appeared with Crabbe and Goyle walking a few steps behind. He had his usual nasty look on his face and said something to the two large dimwits. They seemed to shrug and nod, soon walking in the other direction. He turned on his heel, and began walking towards the staircase.

She followed him silently, keeping a large distance between the two. She narrowed her eyes and wondered where he was headed, when he began walking through familiar hallways that Hermione could have mapped out blindfolded in her first-year. Sure enough, the large doors of the library came into view. She rushed ahead as he stepped into her sanctuary, quickly following him in before the door could shut.

He walked towards the back of the library where there were sets of tables and comfy work chairs for students to find a quiet place to read or relax. He pulled out a chair near one of the larger windows with the view of the Quidditch pitch and spread his work over the table. She counted his short stack of textbooks with parchment and saw a bottle of ink and quills being placed on the wood.

Hermione stood at the end of a long bookshelf, observing him quietly. She was still far away to make a run for it if needed be, but close enough that she could make out his expression. It was odd. She inwardly snorted. What was she thinking? This was far from odd. It was demented! She was watching her arch nemesis do his homework, and did it willingly with borrowed time.

Malfoy seemed perfectly at ease. His shoulders were relaxed, and he had his feet propped up in front of him, a large book in his lap. His head was tilted to the side and leaning against his hand; it reminded her of those television commercials she saw back home advertising a vacation at the Caribbean and relaxing in high-class hotels.

She wondered how long she should observe him for. It didn't look like he was going to make some life changing decision anytime soon. What would she even talk about? How would she approach him? She inwardly laughed at herself. She never thought she'd one day be in the library trying to figure out how to willingly talk to Malfoy. The future looked grim indeed.

Hermione doubted she could simply walk up to him and ask how he was doing. She sighed; she had to start somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she released the disillusionment charm on herself and began walking through the bookshelves. She trailed her fingers along the spines, and cracked a few books open, making the smallest of noises to have her presence known.

The shelves were staggering in height, so she couldn't see Malfoy, but neither could he see her. After grabbing a spell book she had checked out seven times before, she rounded the corner.

Hermione decided to have a moment of hesitation before she turned to notice him.

_One…_

_Two…_

She flipped her head towards his direction, and sure enough, he glanced back. His face immediately shifted into his trademark sneer, and his previous relaxed posture was quickly replaced by the slant of his shoulders and a slight rise in his chest.

"Well, if it isn't Granger," he jeered. "Why is a mudblood running around without her keeper?"

Her hand tightened around the book, but she managed to keep her voice leveled. "Nothing much—What's the delicate little prince doing without his most trusted bodyguards?"

"Watch yourself," he warned, his grey eyes flashing with annoyance. "Wouldn't want to end up in the Hospital Wing so soon into the year."

_Breathe. _

_Think of Dumbledore!_

"Oh—" she raised an eyebrow. "Why don't you try it? You are after all, the Amazing Bouncing Ferret."

So much for thinking.

He was on his feet the next second, the book in his lap snapped shut and smacked on the table, wand out and pointed at her.

Hermione wasn't any slower.

"I only happened to miss Potter on Monday because Professor Moody got in the way." His eyes widened dangerously. "But there's no one to save you here, mudblood."

Hermione bit back her response and opted for a feral growl from the back of her throat. They locked eyes, and for a moment, she could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat. Her lip curled into a furious snarl, and her fingers shifted the wooden wand for a cleaner grip.

This conceited, prissy, moronic bag of bollocks—

_You must put aside your differences and try to see him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is._

Her focus wavered.

_Mr. Malfoy was taught to hate you._

Her wrist lowered.

_He is now depending on you, Miss Granger._

Hermione swore loudly, retracting her arm and tearing her gaze from Malfoy's.

She saw a flash of surprise in his face, but she turned on her heel and dove away, partially afraid he would try and hex her as her back turned. She rounded the corner again, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand.

For heaven's sake! This was single-handedly the hardest thing she ever had to do: be civil to Malfoy.

He was the most self-centered arse to ever walk the earth! How on earth was she going to help change his views? They couldn't be in each other's presence without whipping out wands within the next minute.

Sighing, she slumped down on one the cushiony chairs and set the book on the table. She closed her eyes and replayed their conversation. Where had it gone wrong? Well, talking to him in the first place was wrong, but she couldn't count that.

He had taunted her first, so she had every right to retort back.

Then he threatened to send her to the Hospital Wing, so she was only retaliating in turn.

She groaned, realizing her mistake. Malfoy may have provoked her, but she had a choice the respond in kind or not.

In the end, she had let him get the best of her.

Her stomach felt like it was being eaten through by acid. She wanted to go back there and yell out her frustrations, but cut the thought. It would be too suspicious to try and talk to him again—after all; she had never willingly gone up to him to have a nice conversation in her life.

She figured if he came to the library every free period, she would have to battle with him once a week. And much to her vexation, she had lost the first one.

Hermione and checked her watch. It had only been ten minutes since they had walked in. Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes and replayed the conversation over and over again. Trying to remember his facial expression, or his tone of voice. If she was going to convince him—or persuade him, whatever—she needed to notice the subtle signs.

The next two hours ticked by slowly, and after checking that Malfoy was deeply absorbed in his book, she slipped around to the bookshelf behind him, returned the spell book she had taken and walked out of the library.

She entered the Gryffindor common room, noticing Harry and Ron musing over fake predictions for their Divination homework. Harry was the first to look up.

"Back already?" he asked.

She gave a quick glance at her wristwatch and inwardly cursed her lack of thought. It was five minutes past the bell ring for History of Magic, so to them, she had practically walked to the library and back. She simply shrugged, hoping they wouldn't delve too deep.

"The book I wanted had already been checked out."

"Oh," said Harry, not sounding very interested. He turned back to his Divination homework and bantered with Ron again.

Quietly sighing, she turned on her heel and began to walk up to the girl's dormitory. She needed a vague plan, as much as she didn't want to make it. Malfoy was a wild card; she could never expect him to act a certain way and could easily say something that could make her lose control. She needed an outline, and time was ticking again.

.

Hermione was beginning to embrace her inner Slytherin side. Not that she had much in the first place, but after two weeks of observing—stalking, really—Malfoy, she had become quite adept that picking up the smallest of movements and expressions, and staying relatively out of sight. She decided she would simply watch him before trying to talk to him again. Her first attempt had gone terribly, simply because she had rushed. Talking to Malfoy would take a lot of time and effort, just like Dumbledore said.

It was the third week in, History of Magic had ended with the bell ring, and Hermione waved to Ron and Harry—both of them already understanding that she would be in the library. Making her way to the familiar empty corridor on the seventh floor, she gave the Time Turner two spins and saw two hours fly by in reverse.

She cast the disillusionment charm on herself and set her walk to the Charm's class where Malfoy would be finishing in a few minutes.

Ignoring the usage of the Time Turner, Hermione had turned fifteen, two days ago. There was a small celebration in the Gryffindor room, but was otherwise a passing day. She began tossing around the idea of aging while using the Time Turner. There were multiple books regarding the rules and usage of messing with time, but nothing was certain. The only thing that she clearly remembered relating to her situation was Eloise Mintumble, the unspeakable that went back nearly five hundred years. When she returned, the centuries caught up with her, killing her and causing a few of her relatives to be unborn.

Going by this theory, if she continued to age while using the Time Turner, the age gap between her and those in her year would increase even more. She spent two hours back in time a week—so eight hours a month—if she planned to continue this mission for the rest of the school year, she had about nine more months to go—a seventy-two hour jump, exactly three days. It wasn't much, but Hermione had still yet to count the hours she spend traveling back in time all last year. After doing the math in her head, she concluded that she had quite possibly turned fifteen, six days earlier instead of two.

Feeling rather old, she stopped at the hallway next to the charm's class and watched the large double doors swing open and the students pour out with tired murmurs. Malfoy stepped out with Crabbe and Goyle, and separated ways as usual. She had originally wondered why he dismissed them to go study in the library, and concluded that even she wouldn't be able to study properly with dunderheads like Crabbe and Goyle breathing down her neck every second.

He strode towards the winding staircase to the third floor, and she kept pace with him until they reached the library. Hermione had spent the last two weeks simply watching him after her first loss, but she felt prepared today—she wouldn't fall for his provocations.

He set down his belongings and walked over to the shelves, popping off a few book into his arms after a quick scan. She caught a few of the titles and began formulating her plan.

Malfoy set the stack of texts on his table and sat down in his usual chair, cracking the first spine open. She decided to give him ten minutes of personal studying time before she went in and sabotaged it.

After the set time was up, Hermione released the invisibility charm, and began walking through the shelves, making slightly more noise than necessary. She huffed in impatience when she reached the shelf behind Malfoy and saw that the book she 'wanted' wasn't there. Rounding the corner, she immediately turned to the blonde.

"Oh—Malfoy," he glanced up, scowling. "Did you possibly take _Intermediate Transfiguration_?"

Hermione walked over to his table, not waiting for his reply. His scowl deepened as he saw the book on top of his stack and snatched it away as she approached.

"So what if I did?" he sneered. "I got my hands on it first—so run along, I'm not giving it to you."

_I don't even need the bloody book_. Hermione breathed.

"Please?" she asked again. "You're not looking at it right now. It'll only be a minute."

"Not a chance," he repeated. "I wouldn't want to touch the book after your filthy mudblood self looked through it."

There was a victorious glint in his eyes that she caught, as if he had won the battle. He knew it too; it was the taboo word. Once it was said, she had usually screeched at him or stomped away extremely upset. He knew what affected her and had no hesitation in saying it. But it wasn't going to happen.

She pursed her lips. "Are you saying that you're scared? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Scared you say?" he snorted. "More like having common sense to avoid touching what will only taint me."

_Patience._

"Why? Is your superior pure blood not strong enough to protect you from my mudblood germs?"

Malfoy's eye twitched, and the corner of his lips pulled by a fraction. Miniscule things that most people never noticed, but after Hermione had been observing him, she knew he was cracking. She had probably surprised him for good measure, referring to herself as a mudblood, thereby removing the weight of the word. If she accepted it, using it to try and aggravate her would be pointless.

"Face it, Malfoy." She pressed. "You're scared of my lowly mudblood germs."

His eye twitched again, but he growled dangerously. "I. Am. Not. Scared." He hissed through his teeth. "Now leave, Granger, before I force you."

She almost wanted to laugh. He had called her Granger again. Hermione placed her hands on the table and leaned forward.

"Prove it. Just give me the book," she insisted. "Like I said before, I'll only have it for a few minutes. Are you really going to hex me over a book?"

His jaw tightened considerably. "A few minutes for you to take it and walk off with it? No. Now leave."

"I'm not going to take it," she replied, satisfied that he had at least considered the idea. "I'll read it right here and hand it back to you."

"And come back in five minutes to read it again when you've forgotten something?" Malfoy sneered. "No. I'm not going to say this again."

"I won't. I don't forget anything after I've read it once, Malfoy," she replied impulsively, realizing her tumble a second too late.

_Merlin's balls! _She had never meant to say that. Not even Harry and Ron knew about her especially keen memory.

His eyes widened slightly, but again, nothing clearly noticeable. He seemed to briefly consider something before snorting.

"That's impossible, Granger," he dismissed. "If you're going to lie then at least make it believable—barmy Gryffindors."

It was a second later that Hermione realized Malfoy had not told her 'no' and 'leave'. Her heart thudded; this was her opportunity.

"I'll show you," she extended her hand. "I'll read the passage I need from the book and I'll recite it back to you _word for word_."

His eyes narrowed with obvious curiosity, but his arm refused to hand her the book he snatched away.

Impatient, Hermione grabbed another book from his stack and flipped to a random page. She didn't hear Malfoy yell at her, or try and take the book back. It seemed that he was having quite the internal struggle between his curiosity and his normal rude self.

Feeling somewhat safer that she wouldn't be hexed, she set her eyes down on a new paragraph and began reading, absorbing every word. After blazing through three paragraphs, she raised her head and handed the book to Malfoy. His grey eyes were still narrowed, but he took the book from her.

"Starting from the first cut on page two hundred and forty-eight," she said. His eyes followed her and fell on the intended paragraph.

Hermione then began to read back entire two pages of material, word for word. She saw his eyes widen as she continued, not even missing a single pause when there was a comma or a period. After a minute of reciting, she cut off at the last word and looked defiantly at Malfoy.

"Believe me now?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment before snapping the book shut. "No," he replied and began to write something on a torn piece of parchment. "For all I know, you could have read the book already." He then tossed her the small scrap, a smirk on his face. "Repeat what I've written there."

She caught the flimsy material with a reflexive twist of her wrist and glanced at the jumble of both letters and numbers written in Malfoy's neat handwriting. She was momentarily distracted by his calligraphy, wondering how a guy had such elegant script. It looked impeccable next to Harry and Ron's clumsy scrawl. Inwardly shaking her head, Hermione stared down at the illogical mess, committing it to memory. She handed the sheet back to him, and he took it, giving her a smug look as if he had caught her.

Inwardly snorting, she began repeating his random characters back to him with perfection. His eyebrows furrowed together once he realized that she had just proved him wrong.

Not only that, but he had taken both the book and the parchment from her after she had 'tainted it'. He seemed to have done it unknowingly, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to rub it in his face. She held that particular feeling back—self-discovery was crucial in learning to change opinions.

Minutes went by in silence, as she waited for him to say something. He was obviously having a difficult time processing that he had been incorrect. Feeling accomplished already, she sighed expressively and tried to look tired.

"You know what, Malfoy," she breathed. "Keep the bloody book. Since you're that unwilling it give it up, I'll leave."

She turned on her heel and stalked away; rounding the corner of a large shelf and plopping down on the chair she usually sat in. Malfoy made no notion that he acknowledged her leaving. She had expected him to shout at her, or hex her for telling him what to do.

The library remained quiet.

Frankly, Hermione wanted to scream with joy. Her plan had been a great success! She had never intended to actually take the book from him. She simply asked for something she knew he wouldn't give, so he would no doubt taunt her again, and she could build her immunity to his insults. It had worked out rather superbly. The only thing she didn't expect was revealing her eidetic memory. It had been an impulsive retort, but Hermione couldn't figure out whether she truly regretted telling him or not.

She never liked revealing her special ability because the muggle children that she was once friends with often teased her about it, or insulted her. It was always one or the other. She guessed that the moment word got out of her memory at Hogwarts, the boys would be relying on her for their homework even more; claiming that she was gifted and it would be easy for her. No way. She knew that Malfoy wouldn't bother telling anyone—who would believe him in the first place? If people managed to think twice about what the Slytherin prince was claiming about the girl he arguably hated the most, he would then have to explain their meeting as well. The man was stuck in a rut.

Smiling, Hermione glanced at her watch. An hour had gone by. She had successfully—in her opinion—had a somewhat civil conversation with Malfoy, no wands were pulled, and all her limbs were still on her body.

She had won today's battle and it felt damn good.

The next hour slipped by rather slowly, Hermione replayed their conversation multiple times, stashing away his reactions and keeping tabs on his expression. After formulating another vague plan for the next week, she pulled out a random book from the shelf next to her and plopped it open, wanting to get some leisure reading time.

She glanced at her watch, estimating that her other self along with Harry and Ron were finishing up History of Magic. Not wanting to repeat her last mistake of returning to early, she decided to stay for another half-hour before going back to the tower.

By the end, Hermione was so into her book that she didn't hear the soft footsteps that approached her. There was a quiet clank on her table, indicating something being dropped. She barely glanced up in time to see a pale hand quickly retract back, the swish of dark robes and white blonde hair rush out of sight.

Dumbfounded, she glanced at the new guest on her table, gasping softy when she saw _Intermediate Transfiguration _lying flat on the wood, it's presence meaning more to her than she could ever describe.

* * *

A/N: Hope you guys liked the chapter! I wanted to get straight into Hermione and Draco's interactions—I pray I did them justice.

Three things I want to quickly explain. One, the events that happen in canon (the books) I will just briefly mention or skip all together. I'm sure you guys don't want to waste time reading stuff that you can look up yourselves in the books. Two, because I'm omitting that, there will be time skips almost every chapter. If there's confusion don't hesitate to ask me. Three, there will be no SPEW. Hermione will still have her unrelenting spirit for the liberty of house-elves, but the actual society will be left out—it just makes things easier for me honestly.

P.S. I love Hermione's declaration in DH when she's talking to Griphook. "Why shouldn't I? Mudblood, and proud of it!" Basically where I got my inspiration for this chapter. Also, I do know she doesn't have eidetic memory, it just seemed right to add it in.

Please Review!

El


	3. Mercy

Disclaimer: I do not own any HP characters or events.

* * *

Chapter 3: Mercy

.

Hermione didn't get the chance to speak with Malfoy for another two weeks. He had made his way to the Slytherin Common Room with Crabbe and Goyle the first week, and didn't dare sneak in after them to be trapped in enemy territory. The week after that, he had visited the library again, only to leave a half-hour in of working, and walked down to the Quidditch pitch. She watched him fly around a few laps by himself, diving suddenly, twisting in the air, and practicing his maneuvering.

She would never admit it, but he flew incredibly well—that is, if he wasn't constantly taunting Harry or trying to cheat. He flew with the confidence of experience; the way he held himself on the broom, or dismounted it with ease as if he had been doing it since childhood.

When her third chance came to talk to Malfoy, it was already mid-October. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons' students were due to arrive in eleven days, and once the tournament started, she knew Hogwarts would be filled with more students so prancing around under a Time Turner wasn't going to be easy, no matter how developed her stealth skills were.

He sat in the library near the large window, writing his essay in silence. Again, she had to admit, the guy was actually smart. Hermione may have been the top in her year, but Malfoy was consistently right behind her, and she was sure Snape's favor couldn't extend into giving him higher grades in his other subjects.

She walked up to him from behind, lifting the disillusionment charm and cursing her lack of social skills to start a decent conversation.

"Hey Malfoy," she began; he turned to her, scowling again. "Er—I just wanted to say thank you for the book."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his upper lip curled slightly. He turned away from her and gave his attention back to his essay.

She decided not to press the matter, thinking that it probably hurt his pride to enough think he had handed the book to her. Wiping off her silly smile, she walked away from his table and began scanning the shelves for something to read. He had picked a great section to study in. There were plenty of books around that interested her, and she would be able to watch him from the corner of her eyes.

Picking up a rather thin text on elves, she began flipping through the pages. She felt Malfoy's occasional stare, but kept the direction of her eyes lowered.

After reading through the book, she returned it back to its place on the shelf, unsatisfied. Glancing higher into the ridiculously tall shelves, she noticed a few thicker books of interest, but the other ones were too high up to decipher. She pulled the rolling ladder towards her, clamping down her fear of heights. It wasn't even that high up, maybe ten feet. Firmly gripping the old wood, she climbed the steps slowly, and carefully. Hermione read the spines again, catching a few books on elf history and service. She slipped the book off the shelf, and added three more to her stack that showcased similar material. Determined to take the particularly interesting text on house-elves, she grabbed the spine and pulled. She realized a second later that she had slid the book too quickly, taking the other books that were stacked on top of it. For a terrifying moment, she watched in slow motion as the stack tipped over the edge of the shelf and began to fall straight towards her head. She pulled her face back, but it had been the wrong decision. The books came slamming down on her chest, causing her to lose grip of the ladder.

The next thing she knew, she was on her back, lying on the carpeted floor of the library. The right side of her head felt numb. She grunted incoherently, and muttered a stream of impressive curses when she felt her whole body respond in pain. There were several books on her face, and she tossed them off with extreme effort.

She heard footsteps round the corner. Damn, she had forgotten about him.

"Keep it down, will you?" she heard him yell. Then the footsteps stopped.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing?" Malfoy finally asked; his face twisted between mock laughter and honest curiosity.

She threw another book off her neck and coughed. "What does it look like? I'm having a party with my books." She let the comment sink in before rolling her eyes. "I fell, Malfoy."

"Really, how dimwitted are you?" he eyebrows lifted. "I assume you tried to take multiple books down and they fell over the shelf."

Damn.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she glared. "Unless you're going to help me."

He seemed offended by the mere idea. "I will most certainly not help you."

"Then leave," she repeated, sliding another set of books off her torso.

"Actually, I don't think I will," he replied smoothly. "Someone needs to witness this and add to the list of reasons why you will forever be an insufferable know-it-all."

She growled at him, but was cut off by a muffled groan of pain as she tried to sit up. Her head exploded with pain, but she held back the tears. Book tumbles off her chest and fell onto the floor. Hermione silently prayed that Madam Pince didn't hear her crash to come running over and see all her precious books splayed over the floor.

"And what's with these old books?" he questioned; picking the one that fell near his foot. "Trying to find out how to fix your mudblood status?" He smirked.

"Hilarious," she responded. "I'm researching on elves. Did you know that there are a whole load of them here at Hogwarts?"

He raised an eyebrow at her lack of response. "So what of it?"

"It's slave labor!" she explained impatiently, getting to her feet and lowering the books she actually wanted on a table.

"Slave labor?" he repeated.

"Yes!" she said, sending back the other books with a wave of her wand. "They hardly have a voice in society, there are no rules in the ministry that protect them from mistreatment, and they are basically bound to their master, forced to carry out their commands!"

He didn't seem bothered by the fact at all. "They're elves, Granger. It's their job to serve."

"They should be getting paid, and have breaks!" she persisted. "It's maddening how no one bothers to stand up for them."

"I'd reckon they'd be offended by the gesture," Malfoy snorted. "Though I'm not surprised you don't understand that part of our culture, coming from incapable muggle parents."

She took a sharp breath. Call her a mudblood, tolerable. Accuse her parents of being incapable? That was not okay.

"Don't you dare say my parents are incapable!" she snarled, barely holding down her anger. "You don't know anything—coming from a family where everything was handed to you on a silver platter! Even your personality is handed down!"

His smirk faltered, a menacing scowl replacing it. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said, you dolt!" she spat. "Have you ever questioned anything for yourself? Why do you believe the things you believe, Malfoy—because your father told you? You're nothing but his copy! A chunk of clay for him to shape as he pleases because you don't give a damn—"

"Shut up!" he cut her off, whipping out his wand the next second. "It's you who doesn't understand anything! My father is a respectable man and you have no right to talk of him like that, filthy mudblood!"

Her first shook with rage. "A respectable man? The man who taught you that I'm lower than the dirt on your shoes that's better off dead!? Go on—curse me. I know your father wouldn't hesitate in your position." She closed the distance between them in two strides, letting his wand dig straight over her heart. "Prove me right. Make your father proud."

Hermione locked eyes with his grey ones, which were swirling with emotion: fury, hate, confusion, and surprisingly, refusal. Her chest rose with rapid breaths, and her hands shook with adrenaline. She waited for him to make his move. Her wand was still stored inside her robes, but she wasn't afraid, she had no room for fear at the moment.

After a moment of intense staring, Hermione felt warm liquid trail down her cheek. Her right eye vision began to blur. What the—was something leaking from the roof? She ignored it, not daring to wipe her face. Another streak trailed down her temple, she felt it linger under her chin before it dropped onto her white shirt, staining it red.

Malfoy's eyes widened, all his previous raging emotions now overwhelmed by alarm. He glanced at the side of her head, and slowly pulled his wand back. The skin over her heart stung where his wand had been pressed. He glared at her with furious eyes, but clenched his teeth and lowered his wand.

"Leave," he growled.

Shocked, she slowly raised a hand and pressed it against the side of her head, wincing as she came into contact with the warm liquid. She retracted her hand and stared at the red fluid that stained her palm. Blood was now rushing down the right side of her face, dropping onto her white shirt. Damn, she had probably hit her head on the edge of the table when she fell. Momentary shock had numbed the pain, but her adrenaline was dying down, and the injury was making its presence known painfully.

"I…" she muttered. Hermione glanced at her watch and inwardly cursed. She still had a half-hour before the two hours of her Time Turner was up. He other self was still in class.

_Remember the laws. _

Madam Pomfrey couldn't see her. If she went to the Hospital Wing, her other self would have to be excused from class, not to mention there would be other students that were currently in the infirmary. No one could see her.

"I can't." she finally answered, cursing her carelessness.

"Don't try to be bloody heroic," he scowled.

"I'm not...! I simply can't right now," she repeated firmly, clutching the side of her head. She shrugged off her outer robe and used it to press against the gash—_pressure_; she needed to stop the bleeding as much as she could.

Malfoy's expression was torn again between confusion and distaste.

"Suite yourself," he finally said. "I'm not the one bleeding to death."

Hermione was so sure he was going to walk off and resume his work. But he remained where he was, surprising her again. He simply stared at her, his cold grey eyes instantly reminding her of his father.

But they weren't the same person.

_See him for the person he is, not the person he thinks he is._

She sighed.

"Look… Malfoy," her head was starting to spin with the loss of blood. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. You are not your father."

He regarded her with narrowed eyes, and for a second, she thought he would attack for good. She had been so shocked when he retreated his hand. Was it possible that it was because she lowered her wand last time?

"You don't know anything," he quietly snapped.

She shook her head and sat down. "True, but I do know that you chose not to curse me a minute ago when you had the perfect opportunity. That's enough of a difference for me."

"I don't get you, Granger," he remarked. "Why are you trying so hard to be gallant? It's not going to make a difference."

_Trust me, if Dumbledore didn't sign me up for this I would not be here. _She shook her head. That was wrong and she knew it.

"Because I don't think it's right," she explained instead. "You're hatred towards me is illogical. It's taught. Unless you'd so kindly explain why you'd rather see me dead."

He scowled. "There's nothing illogical about it. You don't come from a magical family; it was a mistake. Not to mention you hang out with Potter and Weasley day to day. What's not to hate?"

"Don't speak as if my company determines who I am," she bit back. "Besides, that's fresh coming from you who has the two biggest airheads of our year following you around like lost puppies."

The corner of his lips twitched higher, and she could have sworn he looked amused for a split second. She must have been hallucinating from the loss of blood.

"They're not with me now, are they?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Neither are Harry or Ron," she retorted. "Also, are you implying that magic made a mistake in choosing me?"

"Yes," he replied immediately. "You guys are the reason why squibs are born into magical families. You steal their magical birth right."

Her jaw lowered. That was the most ludicrous thing she had ever heard, it was almost funny.

"How in Merlin's name would I steal magic?" she asked with incredulity. "That sounds ridiculous and you know it."

He glared at her. "I wouldn't know, I'm not a muggle after all. But it's not illogical. You come from a different world. This isn't the one you belong in."

That stung. She winched at his rejection but steadied her thoughts.

"Look, Malfoy, your statement is illogical because first of all, there are much more muggle-born witches and wizards than there are squibs. Mathematically, it doesn't add up." She smiled slightly. "Secondly, magic can't be stolen, and you know it. It can be diminished, weakened, strengthened, partially given, but it cannot be forcibly taken. Really—if I could steal your magic, wouldn't I have done that by now? Wouldn't the whole ministry be run by magic stealing muggles? See how ridiculous that sounds?"

"No," he replied after a moment of hesitation. "You're lying. That's what you muggle-borns made up to justify your situation and hope to fit in."

"I'm not lying," she insisted, noticing that he had used the term muggle-born for the second time instead of mudblood. "Look it up yourself. It's there, it's explained and most of all: it's logical. If you're going to live your life around the idea that purebloods are better than everyone else, then you best believe it's one hundred percent true. Don't simply take it at face value because that's what you were told."

For the first time in their conversation, Malfoy looked—for lack of a better word—speechless.

Hermione glanced at her watch again, thanking every deity that her half-hour was up. She rose from her sitting position, feeling her head reel with the loss of blood.

"Anyway, my time is up," she said. "I'm going to the Hospital Wing. Thanks for not hexing me."

He made some kind of undecipherable grunt and scowled.

Without another word, Hermione scurried off and stumbled out of the library and to Madam Pomfrey. A few students gave her curious glances as she hurried to the Infirmary, her head reeling with the conversation with Malfoy. She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and decided she would reflect upon it when she had blood to spare.

To say Harry and Ron were on the floor dying would have been an accurate statement presently. She had just returned to the common room after getting a thorough scorn from Madam Pomfrey, and the moment she explained that books had fallen on her while she was in the library, the two boys burst out in laughter, Divination homework be damned.

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry, clutching his stomach. "It's just always something we joke about, and to see it happen—"

He burst out laughing again. Ron was no help either.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Yes, she thought it was quite funny as well, but the second she told them that Draco Malfoy had been with her and had his wand pointed in her direction, with blood gushing down her face, the story wasn't so funny anymore.

"You boys are ridiculous," she simply said and stalked off. Hermione had homework to finish and essays to write, and she wanted to stay ahead as much as possible before the tournament started.

.

It was the second week of November when Hermione was able to find the energy to sit down and talk to Malfoy again. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had arrived the week before, and the Goblet of Fire had been placed for students to enter. Hermione had thought the dramatics revolving around the tournament was finally over, until Harry's name was called.

It was all down hill from there.

Ron was having a jealous fit, the other schoolhouses—particularly the Hufflepuffs—seemed to avoid them now. No one in Gryffindor believed in Harry's protests that he indeed, did not put his name in the goblet, but her, and honestly, she was tired of trying to be the middle player between him and Ron.

Harry was constantly upset, Hagrid was determined to get everyone on a nice walk with their blasted skrewts, and Malfoy was being an arrogant arse as usual. It seemed that the only time he was actually tolerable, was when he was alone in the library.

"Really, Malfoy," Hermione slammed her palms against the table he was sitting at. "Did you have to provoke Harry?"

It had been a week since Malfoy _accidently_ hexed her after calling her a mudblood and riling Harry's anger. The only good thing about the occasion was letting Madam Pomfrey shrink her teeth smaller than they originally were.

He looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow. "I see your teeth are back to normal. Though as Snape said there wasn't much of a difference—"

"Shut it," she growled, losing control over her temper. She was simply on the edge with everything lately.

His left eye twitched but he made no motion in pulling out his wand and blasting her from the table. Why couldn't he act like this usually?

"Look, I have to ask—" she said, finally noticing that he wasn't wearing the POTTER STINKS badge on his robes. She sat down on the other side of the table with a plop.

"Granger—do not sit at my table," he frowned. "I don't want anyone to see that I'm willingly sitting here with you."

"Oh grow up, will you?" she rolled her eyes. "There's no one around. Now will you please listen to me?"

"No," he curtly replied.

"Do you really think Harry entered himself in the tournament?" she asked anyway.

"Of course," he sneered. "That's all Potter wants. More attention."

Hermione bit her lip but kept her temper in check. "Malfoy, do you think Harry is particularly smart? Magically talented and respectable?"

He looked disgusted. "Bloody hell, no. Potter wouldn't be able to tell the difference between—"

"Exactly my point!" she interrupted. He scowled at her. "Think. Do you honestly believe that Harry has the magical abilities to firstly cross over the age line—made by Dumbledore, mind you—_and _somehow fool a powerful magical object that's as ancient and esteemed as the Goblet of Fire?"

He went silent for a minute. Hermione could see the gears in his brain working, his grey eyes shifting with thought.

"I suppose not," he finally muttered. "But it doesn't change the fact that Potter had something to do with his entering. Probably asked someone older—"

"Come off it," she scoffed. "Harry wouldn't do that. Someone's out there and intentionally put his name into the goblet! These are dangerous, risky events that he has to face!"

"And why are you telling _me_, Granger?" his lip curled in distaste. "I'm not going to walk up to Potter and give him a comforting pat on the back."

Hermione snickered at the mental image. She could not for her life, imagine Malfoy doing anything like that.

"It's because you're the only one with the brain to understand," she said honestly.

He smirked. "Finally getting tired of your half-witted house company? About time."

She shook her head. "I may be an insufferable know-it-all, but I'm not blind, Malfoy. I know you're right behind me in our year."

"Did Granger just give me a compliment?" his eyebrows raised. "Have you been hit in the head? Oh wait—you were."

She glared at him. "I'll have you know, my head is still in perfect condition."

"Questionable," he said. "You haven't been raising your hand every ten seconds in class."

Hermione fought off her blush, trying to keep the glare in place. It was true. After her short flight of self-discovery, she decided to completely come to terms with her family and her blood. It was a working effort, and trying to keep her hand down when she knew the answer no one else did, was far more difficult that she thought. She had to constantly remind herself there was nothing to prove. Nothing to show off. There was no need to try and justify something that didn't need to be justified.

"You noticed me?" she asked, trying to sound disgusted but came out rather teasingly. Hermione knew she was walking in dangerous waters, but he had surprisingly been very civil.

"It's difficult not to," he replied smoothly. "Your terrible excuse of what you call hair constantly blocks my view of the blackboard, and your imperious tone of voice is nearly impossible to block out—"

Her jaw dropped, just as she thought he was going to compliment her, he turned it around completely an insulted her instead. She should have known. Expecting a nice comment or gesture from Malfoy came as often as a Leap Year.

"Of course," she muttered, ending the conversation.

She grumbled to herself and leaned back into her chair. For the next hour, Hermione simply sat there, and Malfoy returned to doing his homework. He hadn't told her to leave, and she was trying her luck. She knew he didn't forget about her presence because he would glance up occasionally and sneer at her, as if to ask why she was still there. But he never voiced the thought, so she stayed.

She closed her eyes and thought of the tournament. Harry was going to need all the help he could get.

.

Hermione was starting to get tired. She had been helping Harry with the Summoning charm every spare moment she had, which wasn't much. She was briefly tempted to use the Time Turner to send them back a few hours to practice more, but cut the thought almost immediately. Going back in time was strictly to help Malfoy, and she wouldn't betray Dumbledore's faith in her to keep the Time Turner if she was going to use it for other reasons.

After nearly clawing her face apart in during the first task, she felt immensely relieved to see Harry reach the egg successfully and finish without much harm. Even Ron had decided to come around after she had given him a piece of her mind. To add to her relief, the next task was set on February twenty-fourth, so they had plenty of time to rest and focus on their studies.

There was an explosion of cheers and victory banners all over the Gryffindor common room. Hermione joyously celebrated with everyone else, allowing herself a moment to relax after three stressful months of dealing with Malfoy, Harry and her studies.

To top it all off, she finally found the location of the Hogwarts' kitchen and the way to get in. She was brimming with excitement when she saw Dobby in there; she rushed off to catch Harry and Ron, practically pulling them by their ears to follow her back.

Things were looking up for her. Hermione spent more time in the library just for the sake of reading, Malfoy was still being tolerable when she was able to see him without the library being overflowed with students, Harry wasn't in any mortal danger at the moment, and she had received an O on her last potions essay. It seemed that Snape rather appreciated her lack of class participation and the shortening of her essays, writing to exactly 48 inches as he asked.

It was Saturday afternoon and after finishing all her work that was due for next week, Hermione decided to spend the rest of her evening in the library. She wanted to read more on the situation with elves, and be away from the ever-loud Gryffindor tower.

Making her way to the third floor, she swept through the library doors and took in the old smell of parchment and books. She had momentarily forgotten how much she enjoyed going to the library without having to deal with Malfoy. She walked immediately to the reference section where she previously fell off the sliding ladder and struck her head on a table. Now that was a grueling day.

Glancing up at the high shelves, she spotted a few spines she wanted to retrieve. She honestly didn't trust herself on the ladder anymore, so she pointed her wand at the book, and concentrated.

"Accio!"

Needless to say, summoning a book in a tightly enclosed space with other books wasn't her greatest idea. The text she wanted, along with two on either side of it flew off the shelf.

Feeling her heart drop, she yelped as she saw the summoned book fall straight towards her hands, while the two toppled off the shelf backwards. She caught her summoned book with ease and lifted it above her head, inwardly apologizing to the book for using it as a shield from the other two.

They never came. She saw a blur of black from the corner of her eyes, and two hands reaching out to expertly catch the falling books with a snap. Hermione lifted her head, growing wide-eyed as she saw Viktor Krum standing above her, each hand clasping a book.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his accent thick accent and deep voice sounding strange in her ears.

"Yes," she replied, lowering the book. "Er—Thank you."

He handed her the two books and she took them, feeling utterly embarrassed. At least it wasn't Malfoy. Actually, the git would have probably let the books hit her.

"You are Harry Potter's friend, yes?" He gave her smile. "Hermy-own?"

"Hermione," she corrected.

"Hermy-ne-own?" he tried again.

She held back a laugh. "Close enough… Viktor?"

He nodded, looking quite relieved she knew his name. "Vot are you reading?"

"House-elves," she replied surprised that he was curious to ask. She glanced at the group of girls at the end of the section. They glared at her and whispered to each other. She raised an eyebrow. "You know, it looks like your fan club doesn't like me standing so close to you."

There was a flash of annoyance on his face. "I am sorry about them," he mumbled. "They follow me every vere, it is most difficult."

Hermione saw him look genuinely troubled, and for a moment, she actually felt bad for him. Those girls must have been following him the moment he stepped off the Durmstrang ship. She had originally thought he was an arrogant guy who flaunted his popularity and relished in the fact that he was admired everywhere he went. To her surprise, Viktor Krum seemed quite withdrawn to it all. She gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Have you tried using the disillusionment charm?" she suggested quietly.

"The vot?" he lowered his voice as well.

She stared at him with surprise. Those in her year might have not learned it yet, but surely it was upperclassmen material—Hermione had read about it in the advanced charms textbook. She knew Durmstrang taught the Dark Arts, and it seemed that they didn't bother learning concealing charms. She glanced at the young seeker.

"Disillusionment charm," she repeated. "It makes you invisible—not perfectly—but it does its job, quite useful."

"I haff never heard of it," he replied honestly. "Durmstrang does not teach us spells like it."

"Would you like to see it?" she offered.

He nodded, seeming eager. He eyed the group of girls with distaste, but they were too distracted giggling to notice his discomfort.

Hermione pulled out her wand and lightly tapped Viktor's head. She could tell by his expression the exact moment he felt the egg crack over his head. The charm traveled down his body, and he melted into the background behind him.

There was a moment of silence as Hermione just stared at a seemingly empty lane between the bookshelves. She could only assume Viktor was occupied with testing the charm that he wasn't speaking.

The group of girls finally noticed he was no longer there, and whined rather loudly, clearly upset that he had left without them knowing. Madam Pince then came around the corner, shooing the girls and scowling at them for the noise. They left hurriedly wondering out loud where he could have gone.

Hermione sighed and silently thanked Madam Pince for staying ever so strict. She turned back to the place Viktor should have been standing and reached out slowly with her hand, hitting his body with her fingers.

"Oh good, you're still here," she pat what she concluded was his shoulder. "I'm going to release the spell."

She flicked her wand in his general direction, and Viktor came back into view, a wide smile on his face. She retracted her hand back quickly, realizing that she had been patting his chest, and not his shoulder.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"You do not haff to be sorry, Hermy-own," he replied. "That vos very—vot's the vord—impressiff! Yes, vill you teach me?"

"Sure," she agreed.

If he learned the charm, his fan group wouldn't be able to follow him everywhere, and in turn, the library would be quiet again.

Hermione spend the next few minutes going over the charm and the wand movement. Viktor caught on incredibly fast; being able the cast the spell on his first try. He wasn't the Durmstrang champion for his Quidditch skills that was for sure.

"Thank you, I vill use it veil," he gave her a large smile and Hermione could feel her previous assumptions about his melt. The man was like a giant teddy bear.

"Glad to help," she replied. "It's for catching my books earlier."

He seemed to blush lightly. "It vos nothing."

"Still," she insisted, checking her watch and grabbing the forgotten books. "I'm sure you have lots of research to do, I'll leave you be."

Giving him one last smile, she turned on her heel and walked away. She was surprisingly in a better mood after talking to him. She had been terribly mistaken about his character, and he had turned out to be a very likeable person.

Hermione sat at one of the empty tables and began to read through her acquired books. It felt wonderful to sit in a comfy chair and read to her heart's content. She definitely needed to spend more time away from the boys, Malfoy included.

* * *

A/N: I obviously don't have the perfect grasp on Draco's character but I am almost sure he wouldn't have cursed Hermione. Or would he? Tell me your thoughts.

I was always curious as to how Viktor and Hermione started talking in the library so I thought they'd have a small exchange.

To my guest reviewer _Elased, _who mentioned about Hermione not aging during her petrification, I'm not entirely sure as well, but I would think the time caught up with her after she was un-petrified. If that isn't canonically true, then for the sake of my fic let's say that happened.

Cheers,

El


	4. Winter

Disclaimer: Still don't own anything. T^T

* * *

Chapter 4: Winter

.

December came rolling in, and the school bloomed with the best decorations Hermione had ever seen in her four years there. She assumed that the staff wanted to show the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students that Hogwarts did not celebrate Christmas half-heartedly.

She sat in her usual spot of the library, thankful that it had been quiet for a few weeks. Viktor Krum's fan club seemed to give up waiting for him in the library after realizing that he was no longer in there. Hermione smiled, knowing that he was probably around, using the charm religiously. The girls had gotten more and more vicious after the Yule Ball had been announced, and they were practically throwing themselves at him in the hallways when he wasn't charmed.

Flipping through another page of _History of Magical Creatures: House-elves,_ she barely heard the whisper behind her.

"Hermy-own."

Snapping out of her book, she turned around at the familiar voice, and the unmistakable way her name was pronounced. She glanced towards the direction of the voice, but saw no one.

A second later, Viktor appeared a few feet ahead, his wand over his head. He seemed strangely nervous.

"Viktor?" she blinked. "Er—hello." She honestly thought she would never talk to him again.

"Hallo," he greeted, walking towards her. "Ver you reading on elves again?"

She nodded, still curious as to why he was talking to her. "And I see you've been using the charm well."

He nodded too. "Veil yes, it has helped me a lot. I don't know vie I didn't look for a spell like this before."

"That's good," she smiled. "I noticed your fan club have been especially horrendous since the Yule Ball announcement."

He shifted his weight from side to side and gave her a sheepish smile. "Actually, Hermy-own, I vonted to ask you—veil, vould you go to the Yule Ball vit me?"

Hermione took a sharp breath and stared at him wide eyed. Had she heard correctly? Did Viktor Krum really ask her to be her partner for the ball?

"To the ball? M-Me?" she pointed at herself.

He nodded eagerly, looking completely serious. His dark eyes seemed to silently plead with her. Hermione felt a blush creep across her cheeks.

"Uhm—yes, I would like that," she answered quietly, biting her lip. "I mean—yes, I'll go with you. Oh Merlin…"

She raised her hand to her face and awkwardly wiped her cheeks, feeling them flare.

Viktor seemed to breath in relief and gave her a wide smile.

"You may not believe me, but I haff been coming to the library to try and talk to you Hermy-own." He looked rather embarrassed at the confession.

Her jaw lowered again. "R-Really? Oh… but why me? I mean, I'm just an insufferable know-it-all—"

"No, no," he shook his head, looking insulted. "You are a vonderful girl, you are different. You did not try to talk vit me for my fame, and you are very smart and kind."

Hermione blushed deeply, feeling her heart beat accelerate. She didn't think anyone had talked about her like that, or even complimented her with such assurance. Her insides squirmed with happiness.

"Thank you, Viktor…" she mumbled, unable to meet such honest eyes.

He approached her more confidently, a smile on his face. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles lightly. Hermione choked.

"I haff to go now," he explained, setting her hand back on the table. "But I vill see you at the ball, Hermy-own. I vill be vaiting at the ship."

She forced her head to nod. "Okay."

He gave her another dashing smile before casting the disillusionment charm over his head, and disappearing from view.

It was a few minutes later that Hermione was able to start breathing again. She pat her chest reassuringly, telling herself that Viktor Krum had really asked her to go to the ball. She was secretly hoping Ron would ask her, but when she gave it some thought, he probably didn't even consider her as an option. And she definitely wasn't going to go with him as his last choice, when he finally figured out she was a girl.

Raising her knees to her chest, she sighed. It was almost ironic—really, the single most sought out man Hermione had ever seen in Hogwarts had asked her to attend the ball with him. She was sure girls would have killed to be in her position. There was a small bubble of happiness in her heart, knowing that Viktor saw her for who she was, bushy-headed and a total book nerd living in the library, but he had genuinely asked for her to accompany him. It was a wonderful feeling.

Smiling, she decided to at least inform Ginny about it, and stood from her seat. She returned the book to its proper place, scanned around her area to make sure she wasn't leaving anything behind, and took off.

Ginny was gaping like a fish after Hermione had informed her of her new date, her face was twisted into an expression of shock and delight. She released a nervous laughter when the red head asked what kind of look she was going for.

"Er—I haven't really thought about it," she replied honestly. "My mum picked out this light blue dress for me—never thought I'd actually wear it though."

"Hermione!" Ginny looked taken aback. "You must! Let me see this dress, I'll help you."

Feeling rather nervous about the young Weasley aiding her, Hermione flipped her trunk open and gently pulled out the blue dress that had been sitting under everything else. Her friend gasped and squealed quietly as she gazed at it, her eyes flashing with ideas.

"Ginny, I'm thinking of just—I don't know—something natural?"

She just nodded and mumbled under her breath, not listening to her. "I've got the perfect look for you! Just trust me on this. You'll look absolutely stunning!"

Hermione cleared her throat and gulped down her sudden anxiety. Maybe it wasn't such as good idea to inform her.

.

The week before the Yule Ball, Malfoy finally decided to return to the library. For the last few weeks, she had simply followed him down to the Quidditch pitch or watched him walk back into the Slytherin common room. He went to the lake one time, sitting there by himself while Hermione simply watched him do nothing. It was incredibly aggravating just standing there, but she thought it would be too strange for her to walk up to him and start conversing like they were old friends. It just didn't work like that.

The term was officially over, so she hadn't bothered to use the Time Turner. She was able to get away from Harry and Ron relatively easily, and staying out of sight after that was also within her new skill set. Unfortunately, trying to find Malfoy was a lot harder than she thought.

Hermione watched with narrowed eyes as Malfoy walked through the double doors of the library. It was Christmas break, and she doubted that he was going to do any reading for future classes. Her surprise grew even more as she noticed him stop by the muggle study section. She clamped her hand over her mouth to suppress a gasp, and watched, as he seemed to carefully read through the spines and pulled out three books off the shelf.

Malfoy strode over to his usual table by the large window and sat, cracking the books open with a quiet sigh. Hermione didn't know if she wanted to cry or scream in joy. Draco Malfoy was reading books on muggles. The sky was falling.

She continued to observe him for the next hour, catching every shift in his expression, or the tightly concealed emotion in his eyes. What exactly was he reading anyway? Hermione had no desire to interrupt him, but curiosity was pushing her towards the edge.

His eyebrows suddenly furrowed deeply, and he shot up from his chair, leaving his finger between the pages before the shutting the book. Hermione jumped back instinctively, wondering what had gotten into him. He bolted from the table and left. Curious, she followed him silently, making sure to leave a good distance between them. He cut a few corners and came to sudden stop, gazing at an empty table. There was clear disappointment in his eyes as if he had expected something to be there. She followed his line of sight and nearly choked when she realized he was staring at the table she usually sat in.

She breathed.

It's just a coincidence.

He just couldn't have known. She never saw him in the library other than during his free periods, so there was simply no way he knew which table she constantly sat in.

Malfoy approached the table slowly. He seemed incredibly hesitant and glanced around the area as if he hadn't given up his spontaneous search. His fingers trailed over the wood of the desk and eyed the cushy red chair with distaste.

It was impossible. If she told herself Malfoy knew that was the table she always sat in, it meant he had gone there to look for her.

She furiously shook her head. That was absurd. There was no way he was looking for her, and there was no way he knew she sat there usually.

But it was a slim possibility, very small, but still possible.

Her instincts were screaming that she was correct, but her logical side tried to tell her otherwise.

In the end, she decided to simply go for it—her curiosity was overwhelming her logical side, and she desperately wanted to know what he wanted to say, or why he was there. Besides, there wasn't really anything to lose was there?

Deciding to head back to Malfoy's table instead, she silently released the charm and sneaked off before he decided to stop searching for her—or whatever he was looking for.

She sat down at the opposite side of the table and glanced at the other two books Malfoy had picked. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read the spines of _Muggle Culture and Lifestyle without Magic, _and _Magical Theory of Muggle-borns. _Hermione had never bothered to read the books herself—seeing as there was no point—but she couldn't stop her heart from pounding against her chest. How did the magical community perceive muggles anyway? What if these books were the reason why so many witches and wizards misunderstood them and held onto their prejudices to the bitter end?

She was pulled away from her musings when she heard impatient footsteps approach her. Hermione held her breath and kept her head down, opening the second book on magical theory. The footsteps came to a sudden halt, and she barely caught the sound of a sharp breath being taken.

For a second, she thought she had been mistaken, but the assumption was trashed the next moment.

"Granger."

Biting down her smile, she turned her head sharply as if she was surprised. Malfoy was standing far end of the section, book still in his hand, and was looking at her as if she had died and came back to life.

"Malfoy?" she slightly frowned. "What are you doing here?"

The strange look disappeared the next second, replaced by his usual cold gaze.

"I could say the same," he narrowed his eyes. "Unless the rumors were true and you really do live in the library. I'm surely not surprised."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I only just got here. And you didn't answer my question."

"And I'm not planning to," he curtly replied. "Now go sit somewhere else, you're in my place."

She raised an eyebrow, trying to sound surprised. "You were sitting here?" Hermione held up the two other books he left behind. "Then are these yours?"

There was a flash of panic in his eyes, but he masked it very quickly. She knew she would have missed it if she weren't waiting for it; he was good, she inwardly smirked, but not good enough.

"No," he denied, inching the book in his hand behind his back. "They were already there. I'm not going to put them back because some lousy kid didn't want to."

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to hold back her smile. She didn't know why, but Malfoy in denial was rather funny to watch. Especially when she knew he was lying.

But she realized after a few moments that she had failed—Malfoy reverted back to his cold expression instead of opening up the reason why he was reading muggle books. Something went wrong. Maybe he really wasn't looking for her. It was a fat chance after all. It dawned on her a second later that she had possibly appeared in the wrong place. By walking to his table and catching him red-handed with muggle study books, she had cornered him.

Setting the book down, she inwardly slapped herself. Damn, she should have simply sat elsewhere. Malfoy was probably killing his pride to pick these books up in the first place, and having her find them in his usual seat was not the way to go.

"Oh," she finally said, feeling incredibly angry with herself. "Well… then why are you still at school? Term is over."

Malfoy hesitantly walked over to the table and sat down at the other end, setting the book in his lap away from view. He scowled at her, as if he didn't want to be there.

"Yule Ball," he reminded, and then smirked. "Though I doubt you thought of that, seeing as no one asked you."

Her thoughts trailed to Viktor again and she lightly smiled. "What makes you think that?"

Malfoy barked a humorless laugh. "That's not even a good joke, Granger."

"It's not a joke," she said, her face turning serious. "I was asked."

His eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh that's right, I heard Longbottom asked you, but you rejected him. Rather cruel, no?"

"I was asked before that! And I said yes if you couldn't figure that out." she hissed, losing control of her already beaten temper. "And since when do you care if Neville is subjugated to cruelty? You don't understand anything."

Malfoy's eyes hardened. "You're delusional. I'm sure only Longbottom asked a mudblood because he has no brains."

"How very clever of you, Malfoy," she spoke through her teeth. Hermione slammed her hand on the table and rose from her seat.

_Damn it all! I messed up. _

She turned sharply on her heel and walked away. Malfoy yelled some obscenity after her but she continued her strides, determined not to ruin the rest of her efforts. She could have easily told him off by saying she saw him in the muggle section, but that would have killed everything she had ever built with Malfoy—which wasn't much—but it was clear he was treating her a bit differently when they were alone in the library, compared to when they met in the hallways with his goons.

Hermione growled in anger, but mostly at herself. The moment she realized she had taken a step too early, she had let Malfoy's usual taunts get under her skin. Honestly, it had been four months since she started the task, but she was still unable to completely rein in her emotions and control her flaring temper.

Sighing, she shifted her thoughts to better things: Harry coming out alive and unhurt from the tournament, Ron cheering on Harry, Viktor complimenting her. She smiled at the last thought; Viktor had been the most surprising gentleman, and it pleased her to know that at least he didn't see her as a lowly muggleborn. Her anger began to calm, and by the time she reached the Fat Lady, her thoughts on Malfoy were gone.

"Password?" she asked.

"Fairy Lights," she answered and stepped inside the common room.

Thinking of Viktor made her slightly nervous. She would have to start taming her hair on Saturday night, and try out that skin scrub Ginny had let her borrow. Pursing her lips, Hermione made climbed the stairs to the girl's dormitory and decided to skip dinner, Merlin knew she wasn't going to stuff her face in anxiety. She _was _eating due to slave labor after all.

.

Sunday came much too quickly. The entire school seemed to be buzzing with excitement for the Yule Ball. Girls were chattering like crazy in groups, giggling and describing their dresses throughout the halls. Surprisingly, the boys weren't any better. Harry was tripping over his own feet trying to learn how to dance; Ron was horrified at the prospect of wearing the formal robes his mother had given him, and poor Neville was a stuttering mess. Parvati and Lavender had started getting ready at six in the morning, even though the Ball didn't start until later that night. Hermione simply rolled over in her bed and folded the pillow over her ears, trying to get at least another hour of rest.

Breakfast was served as usual, the tables having a little more room after the students who were third year and lower had left for the holidays. She, Harry and Ron had spent time in the tower after, opening Christmas presents and laughing at each other's sweaters. There was the yearly snowball fight that took place at the grounds, but Hermione stayed to the side, watching as another ball of snow flew its way to Ron's face—courtesy of Fred.

Hermione glanced at her watch, noting it was already five, and waved goodbye to the boys, saying that she had to get ready for the ball. She brushed off another attempt to know who her date was from Ron, and scurried up to the Gryffindor tower.

Knowing that Parvati and Lavender would be ramming her with questions, she slid the curtains around her bed and set them in place so she wouldn't be bothered. She pulled out a large mirror, her dress and a few products Ginny had let her borrow. She slathered the hair cream over her locks, amazed how well it worked for her usual bushy hair. Her hair calmed into softer waves and she cast a curling charm that Ginny had taught her. It took her nearly two hours before her hair was set correctly, twisted into an elegant bun at the side of her head. Dropping her tired arms she sighed with exhaustion. Her roommates giggled and chattered about their dates, the perfect night, and their dresses, but Hermione simply sat in her bed, feeling very nervous.

After a few minutes of rest, Hermione popped open a thin book that Ginny had lent to her about applying magical makeup properly. She flipped to the natural look she wanted and picked up the unfamiliar tools, eyeing the directions and following the moving pictures to the right of the text.

When another hour had gone by, Parvati and Lavender left the room. Hermione didn't want anything to see her leave because she would have to meet Viktor where the Durmstrang ship was docked.

She slid out of bed and released the spell on her curtains, sending them back to the columns with another wave of her wand. She straightened out her dress and slipped on the heels she never thought she'd wear. Taking a few deep breaths, she began to walk around the room, practicing her posture and stride.

_Chin up. Neck long. Core tight. _

Her mum's words constantly rang in her ears and she smiled. After checking that the Gryffindor Tower had indeed been cleared of its inhabitants, she practiced her walk down the stairs and slipped out of the portrait.

The hallways were thankfully empty, but she could hear the excited chatter of voices as she passed the Great Hall. She walked towards an open archway where she spotted the enormous ship, and a horde of Bulgarian men clad in similar red robes. She approached them slowly, casting a quick warming charm over herself and avoided the snow on the walkway. There were a number of girls within the group, but none of them seemed to recognize her.

"Hermy-own!"

She turned to the right, seeing Viktor emerge from the group of Durmstrang men. He was smiling at her and bowed. Hermione held back a giggle and took his hand.

"Vow, you look very beautiful," he gave her a shy smile.

Hermione smiled back. "Thank you, you look quite striking yourself."

Just then, a man behind Viktor shouted something in Bulgarian. He turned sharply and replied back with a warning tone. The group laughed and Viktor just shook his head. Their Headmaster then appeared behind the group, his robes swishing behind him in a manner very similar to Snape.

He seemed to eye her with distaste, but turned his chin away, walking in front of them.

"Let us go," Karkaroff barked. "Viktor, to my right."

Hermione grasped Viktor's elbow and followed him to the headmaster. The man then led the entire Durmstrang group back into the castle and straight to the Great Hall.

They entered through the large double doors, and Hermione held her breath. She focused on her walk and briefly looked around the Hall, admiring the beautiful decorations that had been set up. She could feel every eye on her and Viktor. Harry and Ron seemed to look past her without a second glance, she noticed Ginny giving her a small smile and Neville looking far more nervous than ever.

She peaked over to the familiar mess of white blonde hair to her left, catching his gaze. Malfoy was staring at her with the same expression she had seen in the library; his intense grey eyes swirling with expertly concealed emotion. He had recognized her at least. Feeling a rush of boldness, she arched her eyebrow and flashed him a smile. Pansy Parkinson who was standing next to him gave Hermione a look of utter disbelief. Inwardly shrugging, she held her shoulders back, her neck long, and smiled as she faced forward again. McGonagall called all the champions forward.

She walked up with Viktor and waved at Harry and Parvati, both who finally seemed to see her and gaped, glancing back between her and her partner. They followed McGonagall to a large round table at the top of the Hall, and the music began to play.

Viktor snaked his arms around her waist and took hold of her hand. She let her free hand sit on his shoulder and allowed him to lead their dance. Much to her surprise, he was a very graceful dancer, twirling her between his grasp and moving smoothly through the floor, his red cap flowing behind him in a wave. He was beaming at her and Hermione couldn't stop the rush of laughter when he lifted her off the ground and spun her in the air. She barely noticed the jealous glares that were shot her way, or the sparkling decorations in the hall. Viktor set her down softy and twirled her for the last time before concluding the opening dance.

He led her to the top table where the food appeared according to the person's desire. She sat down next to Viktor and they began to lightly chat about the decorations, Hogwarts, then Durmstrang. It wasn't long until Viktor decided to get some drinks for them, and Hermione scurried over to Harry and Ron.

That had been a wrong decision.

Harry was the only one who greeted her while Ron was ever so red in the face, accusing her of fraternizing with the enemy. The warm feeling in her stomach disappeared with her argument with Ron, especially after he accused her of helping Viktor with the egg. How dare he assume that about her? Did he really think she would betray Harry? Did he believe she was that vile? Furious, she yelled at Ron in front of twenty other students and stormed off.

She walked over to the refreshment table and began nibbling on a mini éclair. Her anger rose up again when she heard a familiar voice in front of her.

"You shouldn't scowl Granger, it'll make your face uglier," he smirked. "Although I don't know how that's possible."

Malfoy was on the other side of the table, nonchalantly pouring himself a drink. He wasn't looking at her though. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Sod off," she replied. "I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."

"Oh—did Weasley make you angry?" he taunted. "Not too surprising after all, he can't charm a girl if his life depended on it."

For some strange reason, it felt satisfying to hear that from him. Not that she would ever admit that.

"For once, Malfoy," she said, opening her eyes. "I can agree with you on that. Although Viktor on the other hand—he's a completely different story."

The blonde's face darkened considerably. Hermione pretended not to notice, figuring that the prick was upset that he had been wrong.

"Krum, eh?" Malfoy sneered. "Never though you'd had it in you. What'd you slip him?"

She gritted her teeth and growled lowly. "I did no such thing. Viktor—unlike a certain arrogant prat that's standing in front of me—sees me for who I am, and not just my blood status. Shocking right?"

There was another flash of annoyance that ran through his grey eyes. His jaw locked by a fraction and his lips curved into a grimace.

"Well, I'm sure—"

"Herm-own-ninny!"

Hermione turned to see Viktor walking up to her, drinks in hand. She smiled at him warmly and took the glass he offered her. Malfoy's eyes hardened, obviously annoyed that he had been cut off.

"Thank you, Viktor," she took small sips of the drink, an ignoring Malfoy. At least he had the decency not to speak.

"I haff been looking for you," he finished his drink and set it aside. "Vould you like to dance again?"

She took his hand and grinned. "Of course."

He led her away and Hermione turned to give a quick glance at Malfoy. He had a murderous expression on his face that unnerved her for a second. Finally, he shook his head and stalked off. Slightly confused, she turned back to Viktor who had led her to the center of the dance floor. She pushed back those thoughts and smiled. She was not going to let Ron or Malfoy ruin her perfect evening. She set her hand on his shoulder and followed Viktor's lead, twirling away for the rest of the night.

.

The rest of December passed by without too many problems. She refused to talk to Ron after returning from the ball, but came to a silent agreement for Harry's sake and decided not to bring up the argument all together. The new term began in January, and Hermione was more than happy to slip into her usual routine.

She met with Viktor every now and then in the library, his fan club always losing track of him once he cast the disillusionment charm. After a few meetings, Hermione's heart stopped fluttering when he approached, and her stomach eased to squeal in girlish delight. She had learned quite a lot about him over the rest of the month, and had come to share the same feelings for him as she held for Harry and Ron.

Viktor was becoming a doting brother she never had. He began to grow out of his shyness and hesitation as he spoke, even teasing her about being so easy to find since she was always surrounded by books.

Hermione told him about her struggles and listened to his keen advice. He made everything so appear so simple and easy, it was a refreshing perspective for her tendency to overanalyzing everything. He was still three years older than her, and it was definitely nice to talk to someone older, but still close to her age—Fred and George sadly, did not count. Viktor's English improved more and more, even being able to pronounce her name correctly on more than one occasion. She had picked up a few Bulgarian words from him and smiled as she heard shouts of the foreign language in the halls and understanding what they were saying.

"You should visit Bulgaria this summer," he offered, after speaking about the wonders of his homeland. "The veather is much better in the summer."

Hermione's eyes lit up, her heart beating with excitement. "I would love to!" She would have given her right leg to visit, taking her entire summer to see the ancient architecture and magical buildings. Harry's face flashed through her mind. "—But… I'm sorry; I don't think I can anytime soon. I promised Harry that I'd be with him through everything—you know how he is, danger magnet and everything—"

Instead of looking disappointed, Viktor grinned as if he had been expecting it. "You are very loyal, Herm-own-ninny. I do not mind much. It is very—admirable? Yes, very admirable."

She sighed with relief. "Thanks, Viktor."

One day, she was going to visit, just not now. Hermione leaned back in her chair and settled for listening about the country instead. For now, that would do.

January passed quickly and the only bump in her road was Malfoy—as usual of course. She still hadn't spoken to him after the Yule ball, simply because he had been staying in the Slytherin dungeons every free period, leaving Hermione to stand outside the hidden portrait until her two hours were up.

She did a lot of thinking as she sat, mostly worrying about Harry's safety, Ron's sanity, and Malfoy's offensive attitude. If she were to be honest, he was getting more and more tolerable. It definitely wasn't much, especially after he had mocked Hagrid about his newly revealed half-giant heritage. Merlin, couldn't he look at anyone without considering their blood status?

For a brief moment, she genuinely pitied Malfoy. When she gave it thought, his situation was rather sad. He hardly cared for anyone but himself, his friends were only his friends because they were purebloods, and she was sure that when things got bad, they wouldn't hesitate to leave him and he would have no one to lean on. Malfoy was simply alone.

The moment that consideration passed, she remembered the awful git that he was, and went back to brooding over her situation.

She had impatiently snapped at Rita Skeeter in Three Broomsticks, angry that she was trying to write more nonsense about Harry after completely ruining Hagrid's life. That woman was possibly the most hateful attention-seeking liar Hermione had ever had the misfortune of meeting. Hagrid had practically locked himself up in his cabin, and wouldn't open the door until Dumbledore had done it for him.

The old headmaster had refused to take his resignation letter, adamant that the disclosure of his half-giant status was no problem and made sure Hagrid was to return to teaching tomorrow.

Hermione stood in his cabin and smiled brightly at Hagrid's tear stricken face. Dumbledore spotted her near the door as he made his way out. She nodded in greeting.

"How are you doing, Miss Granger?" he asked in a low voice as Harry and Ron were busy looking at the picture of Hagrid's father and listening to his story.

She considered for a second if he was talking about her well-being, or her mission. She decided to go with the latter.

"Surprisingly… all right," she mused. "It's not entirely noticeable… but I can feel it. I think."

The old wizard just nodded and looked at her with content. He leaned forward and lowered his voice even more. "Love… is much more powerful than you think. Just as you have shown acceptance to Hagrid, that same feeling must be given, even to those who you think are undeserving of it."

Hermione froze. Dumbledore just raised his head, and bid her farewell, his half moon spectacles doing nothing to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

Love and acceptance for Malfoy?

The thought alone was enough to bang her head against the wall to see if she was dreaming. How could she ever feel such a pure, committed, and loyal emotion for Malfoy? It was ridiculous. She constantly fought the urge to hex him whenever they talked, but to actually _enjoy _his company was a whole other level that she just couldn't imagine.

Choosing to think about the blonde later, she sat next to Harry and listened to the rest of Hagrid's story. After leaving him in better spirits, the three of them sprinted up the grounds back to the castle, leaving the cold winter air behind.

* * *

A/N: I think I covered over 2 months in one chapter, so I hope everything was still easy to follow. I know I said I'd skip over most of the book stuff but I really wanted to write about the happenings during the ball :3

Am I going to use Viktor a lot from now? Probably not, sorry. He'll appear here and there in future chapters, but I don't have him planned to be a pivotal/central character if some sort.

Stay awesome,

El


	5. Progress, March on

Disclaimer: Do you guys still read this part? Probably not. huhu still don't own anything.

* * *

Chapter 5: Progress, March on

.

The next few weeks were spent pouring over more books than usual. Harry finally decided to take Cedric's advice and worked out the clue in the Prefect's bathroom. She scolded him after he reluctantly admitted he was lying and actually didn't figure out the second task from the egg until the then.

He and Ron accompanied her to her library trips, spending every free hour of the day trying to find a way for Harry to breath under water. It felt like they had looked through dozens of books each, but they still weren't able to find the answer. Hermione huffed in annoyance, but was determined. The library had never failed her in the past, and it wouldn't now, not when she was in dire need.

There just had to be some kind of charm to let Harry breathe underwater. She grumbled in frustration after tossing another book aside. Even after racking through her memory trying to remember if she had read about a spell like that anywhere, she finished empty-handed. There were hundreds of books in the library, and the chance that she hadn't read anything relating to it was quite high.

She was tempted again to use the Time Turner, but convinced herself it wasn't fair to use that ability. She was already walking on thin ice as it was.

Even if it wasn't for researching, Hermione still continued to use the magical clock on Wednesdays after History of Magic to try and talk to Malfoy. The second task was due to take place in two days and she felt silently thankful the blonde decided to go to the library that week.

She followed him inside, watching him sit at his usual table and pop open a few books with a roll of parchment in front of him.

Instead of waiting this time, she released the spell, walked over to his table and plopped down on the free chair with a sigh. She just didn't have the energy to scheme a conversation, so she might as well force her presence upon him.

Malfoy raised his head. "What do you want, Granger?"

"Nothing," she mumbled honestly, leaning back in the chair and gazing through the open window. She remembered they hadn't parted on exactly good terms at the ball, but then again, when did they ever part ways on good terms?

"Then leave," he demanded. "I can't do my essay with you sitting there."

"What are you working on?" she asked quietly, at least trying to attempt at a conversation before she left. Homework was always a good topic for her.

"Herbology." He waved at her dismissively.

Hermione stood up as if someone poured cold water down her back. How could she have missed it? She had been so focused on finding the right charm, she had completely forgotten about magical plants. Surely there was something that could help Harry breathe underwater.

He looked as if he couldn't choose between giving her a curious stare and glaring at her. He settled for the glare.

"Malfoy," she turned to him. "I take it back. You're amazing, thank you."

"What—"

She jumped from her chair and darted out of sight, pushing back his startled face to the back of her head. She practically leaped to the reference section, and walked straight to the shelf on Herbology, picking up a total of nine books all relating to magical plants that were specifically used to affect witches and wizards in some way shape or form.

Grunting from all the weight, she trudged back to Malfoy's table and dropped the books on the wood, heaving a breathless sigh.

Malfoy eyed her with a strange expression and glanced back at the books.

"Are you planning on staying _here_?" he pointed to the table and she nodded. "What's going on with you?"

She raised a tired eyebrow at him. "Yes. You just reminded me of something I had completely overlooked. So I'm reading here as thanks."

"Spare me," he requested. "If you want to thank me, go sit somewhere else."

She pursed her lips and set the books aside. As much as she wanted to dive into them straight away, she was currently in borrowed time on her mission, and helping Harry could come later.

"Malfoy do you honestly still believe that me sitting here is going to somehow taint you?" she asked. "Really—have you at least _tried _looking for your own answers?"

"No," he replied a little too quickly. Hermione frowned at his lie. "And not only that, but you're simply unwanted company."

"That's because you're only looking at my blood status," she argued. "Can't you see people for their character and not who their parents are?"

"Blood purity is far more important than character," he said darkly.

"Well it's not going to be important when we're all dead and six feet under." She shot back. "What are people going to remember you by? They're going to be at your funeral and talk about your blood purity and be done with it? They won't even know you."

"I am very much alive, Granger," he growled. "And I wouldn't care for trivial matters like that when I'm gone."

Her jaw lowered. He couldn't possibly mean that. Hermione locked eyes with him, determined to find the truth. Malfoy's face was set in an indifferent expression, but his grey eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"So you're just going to live your life deciding whether or not people or worthy to be in your presence by their heritage?" she said, feeling bitter. "You know later on, someone's going to say your name for the last time, and you'll be gone forever, with nothing to be remembered by."

His eyes widened by a fraction, and his lips pulled back into a thin line. He seemed to let her words sink in before picking up his quill again and looking down.

"I don't care."

Hermione never thought her heart would crumble with three simple words, but it did. She felt her throat tighten and her stomach clench uncomfortably. Why was he like this? Why didn't he care about anyone knowing the true him? She considered that thought for a moment, walking around with Harry and Ron, both of them unaware of her true character, and following her around because they pitied her muggle-born status. The thought was enough to make her chest burn. How could he live knowing that all people saw of worth in him was his last name and his blood purity? How could anyone live happily like that? She didn't understand him in the least.

Shaking her head, she sighed quietly.

"I care."

His hand stopped, and his shoulders tensed visibly. Hermione watched him carefully, knowing that this could be a breaking point. He didn't look at her, but frowned at his parchment instead, as if something offensive was written there.

"Yes," he said dryly. "I'm sure you'd love for people to say great things about you at your funeral—"

"I'm talking about _you, _Malfoy," she corrected, making herself clear. "Why can't you see that?"

He finally looked up at her and gave her a murderous stare. "Stop it. I can see it in your eyes, Granger. Don't give me that bloody pitiful look. I don't want it, and there is no reason for you to care."

"I'm not pitying you," she lied.

"Yes you are!" he raised his voice. "Don't deny it!"

"Deny?" she repeated, raising her voice as well. "Then you stop denying! I can see it in your eyes too! You question your beliefs. You're starting to see things with your eyes and not someone else's!"

"I don't!" he yelled, furiously slamming the table with his hand. "I don't question anything! I'm a pureblood and you're a mudblood. That's the way it has to be."

Hermione didn't even flinch. Under his rage, she could hear the desperation in his voice. That was all he knew. If she showed him something different, everything he had ever built around the idea would have shattered into unfixable pieces. He would be lost.

She took a few calming breaths and chose her next words carefully. "No… It doesn't have to be like that. There's so much more to people than just blood purity, Malfoy. Give it a chance… Don't you love your mother?"

His eye twitched, and he slowly retracted back his hand from the table. He didn't reply and simply looked right out the window.

"I love my mother," Hermione continued softly. "Sure, she may be a muggle, but there's something about the way she smiles at me when she's proud, or hugs me when I'm upset… or the way she used to tuck me in bed when I was younger and convinced me that I was the most special person to her… the little things. The aspects that make my mother—well, my mother."

Malfoy still didn't reply. He glanced out the window with a blank expression, but she could see the swirl of emotion in his stormy eyes, showing that he was listening to her.

After an eternity of silence, Hermione sighed quietly and decided to leave it for the day. She had done everything she could, but Malfoy still wasn't cracking. Bending, maybe, but he was far from ever understanding her view. And she was far from ever understanding his.

She slid the books back into her arms, and reached over to take the last book of the table when Malfoy's hand came slamming down on the cover, and stopped her from grabbing it. He stared at her, and for a split second, Hermione saw him with all his barriers lowered. His eyes held a soft look to them that she never thought he could have, and his face was free of his usual scowl.

"I know," he simply said.

The next moment, he took his hand off the book and picked up his quill. His face settled back into a seemingly permanent frown and he didn't speak another word.

But Hermione had heard enough. He knew what she was talking about, and admitted to it. She burned the memory of his soft expression into her mind, momentarily shocked that he was able to look so… tender. He genuinely cared for his mother, and that was all that mattered. He had taken a step into understanding her, and she had taken the same step towards him.

Only ninety-nine more steps to go.

.

When her time back was finished, Hermione grabbed the books she still hadn't read through, and dashed back to the common room. Her heart was thudding with excitement, both with Malfoy's words and her anxiety for finding the answer for Harry. She knew it was close, she could feel it.

"Banana Fritters!" she yelled breathlessly to the Fat Lady.

She raised an eyebrow at her again in curiosity, but let her pass with a swing of her portrait. She ran ahead again, crashing into Ron and Harry.

"Omph—what—'ermione?" She swung into Ron who fell back against Harry who didn't bother trying to hold their combined weights.

All three of them fell to the floor of the common room, Hermione dropping most of her books in the process.

"Bloody hell—"

"Sorry, sorry—" she pulled herself back. "I was in a rush—I think I found the answer, Harry!"

Both boys froze and looked at her in anticipation. They grabbed all the books she dropped and huddled around the table in the common room.

"Plants," she explained, pointing to one of the books. "We completely overlooked them thinking of charms! They have all sorts of magical effects and are used in tons of potions. I'm sure there's something that will help Harry breathe underwater."

Ron looked skeptical, but Harry had heard enough. He immediately grabbed the nearest book and began pouring through its contents.

"What made you think of plants?" Ron asked, grabbing a book for himself.

Hermione held her breath, realizing she couldn't exactly say Malfoy had given her the hint, even if he didn't know it.

"I saw a book briefly referencing them," she lied quickly. "Come on—we have a lot to go through, still."

The redhead mumbled but started reading through his book. Hermione turned back to her own text, speeding through the information on plant life cycles. Call it an internal hunch, but she was sure the answer was close.

A half an hour in, most of the Gryffindors were coming back from dinner. The common room began to fill up again, and Harry and Ron were starting to lose focus.

"You know, wouldn't Neville know more about this stuff?" Harry asked.

Hermione didn't look up from her book. Ron answered instead.

"I reckon—he's the only one who get excited over each class. Is he back yet?"

A few moments later, Neville walked through the portrait door, looking a bit flustered. Harry called him over to their table.

"Hi Harry," he smiled, peaking over at their books. "Are you guys researching on Herbology?"

"Actually—" he hesitated. Hermione could tell that he was considering how much to tell him. "Well, do you happen to know of any plants that can help you breathe underwater?"

Neville's face lit up. "Sure, there are lots of them. Which one do you want to hear about?"

All three of their faces rose immediately. Hermione glanced between Harry and Ron, both boys looking more alert than ever.

"Everything you can!" Harry said with urgency.

"Er—well all right, then." Neville looked a little surprised at their eagerness. "There's the, uhm, pessywhirl, which is a plant native to Romania, it creates little bubbles in your lungs that can help you breathe underwater, but you have to be careful not to take its brother, the pertlywhirl because it's poisonous. And there's a purple flower called wichens, if you mix them up with grebus herb, it blocks your nose and throat but creates an air supply so you can still go about without the need to breath. The monfre shrub is also a good one, it's extremely rare though—comes from the highest mountains of Russia—"

"Neville," Hermione interrupted. He looked a bit embarrassed. "You're doing great, but to make it easier, it might be better for us to tell you what exactly we're looking for so you don't have to go through every plant you know of—and well all know that you can—"Neville grew slightly pink and nodded. "We need something that's pretty common, we can't go hiking mountains or searching caves unfortunately. Also, the effect needs to last long, preferably an hour or more."

Neville's face scrunched up in concentration. "Then… something like… Gillyweed?"

All three of them looked at each other, none of them recognizing the name.

"What exactly does it do?" Harry asked.

"Actually, I read about it in the book Professor Moody gave me," he began. "It turns you into a fish—" Harry took a sharp breath. "—Er, not fully! It gives you gills and webbed feet, so naturally, you'll be able to breathe under water as well."

Hermione looked at Harry again, her eyes filling with hope.

"There's some gillyweed stored in the greenhouse, and I think the effect lasts about an hour." Neville finished, looking uncertain.

"Neville, that's perfect—"

"You're amazing—"

"It could work! Brilliant—"

All three of them stood from their chairs, smiling at Neville. The poor boy seemed overwhelmed.

"Er—all right," he gave them a shy smile. "Glad I could help."

"We're going _now_—" Harry declared.

Leaving all the books behind, the trio dashed out of the common room. Harry said thanks again, Ron patted his back, and Hermione flashed Neville a smile. The boy was going places.

They dashed down seven flights of stairs and leaped through the open archways of the castle, navigating to the greenhouse on the grounds. Harry seemed to hold his breath as he ran down, his eyes blazing with hope.

After reaching the Herbology greenhouse, they searched through the numerous counts of plants, herbs, weeds and shrubs. Hermione yanked her hand back from the snapping plant that looked especially vicious, and avoided the others that were making strange noises or moving their arms around in an attempt to try and grab them. Harry was the first to call 'I found it!' leaving her and Ron to dash towards his place. He held up a clear jar with the word 'gillyweed' marked on its cap.

Harry twisted the white top off and hesitantly reached inside, pulling out the topmost ball of greyish tentacles. It was about the size of a ping-pong ball, sitting unmoving in Harry's palm.

For a moment, the three of them said nothing.

"So… you reckon I just… eat it?" his face scrunched up in obvious distaste.

"I would think so," she supplied. "Maybe, oh I don't know—do a little bit more research on it?"

"I suppose," he mumbled back.

Ron just looked at the weed with disgust. She shook her head and waved her wand, conjuring a small jar for Harry to drop the magical plant in. He corked it with his free hand and slipped it into his outer pocket.

Harry heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Either way, I think this will work. Hermione, you're a genius for thinking about plants—Ron, you too. I think you read more books in last two weeks than you have in the past three years combined."

The red head laughed humorlessly, claiming that he was never going to read that many books again. Hermione simply smiled at Harry, trying to push Malfoy's face into the back of her mind.

It was the evening before the second task when Fred and George called Hermione and Ron to McGonagall's office. They were sitting in the common room, Ron was close to beating Harry in a game of chess and Hermione was finishing up her essay that was due next week. She exchanged glances with the redhead, but he seemed as clueless as she was.

"What for?" she asked first.

The twins shrugged. "Don't know, she didn't look very pleased though."

Hermione tried to remember if they had done anything worth punishment. She snorted, thinking of all the things she had helped the boys with, over half of them probably highly illegal. There didn't seem to be anything McGonagall could reprimand them for if she didn't already, so it definitely wasn't because they were in trouble.

Nodding at the twins, she set down her quill and Ron grumbled as he stepped away from the chessboard. Exiting the tower, the two made their way up to their head's office. After knocking, the wooden door swung open by itself and they walked inside, not surprised to see McGonagall at her desk looking more displeased than usual.

"Professor you wanted to see us?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes," she gestured to the chairs. "Please sit." Hermione picked the red one, while Ron sat in the light purple one next to it. "You two are going to asked to participate in the second task that is taking place tomorrow. I am sure Mr. Potter told you about the egg's message?"

Hermione gave a look at Ron, and they both nodded.

"We will take what you will sorely miss…" the professor reiterated. "The two of you along with Miss Chang and Miss Delacour will be put into a deep sleep, and set at the bottom of the lake for your champions to come and retrieve. We assure you that no harm will come to you during that time, and will immediately wake up when you reach the surface."

Ron sat up straighter. "Why are we both here though? Harry can't have two people he needs to save."

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, already knowing the answer.

"Miss Granger won't be there to be Mr. Potter's hostage." McGonagall explained. "She will be there for Mr. Krum."

Ron's eyes narrowed and he replied with a quiet 'oh'.

After a few moments of explanation, Hermione and Ron agreed to their participation.

"I suppose we can't go to Harry and inform him?" Ron questioned.

McGonagall shook her head. "I'm afraid not. Professor Dumbledore is on his way now and will cast the charm. And none of the other champions are aware of what is being taken from them."

Hermione forced down her anxiety, and took a steadying breath. Harry would be completely fine—he knew what he was doing. He would be okay.

True to McGonagall's word, their headmaster soon arrived with Cho Chang and a very young girl that looked no older than ten, but her features made her look strikingly similar to Fleur Delacour, she was no doubt, her sister. After giving them a pleasant greeting, Dumbledore began to call each of them forward, casting the spell and levitating the deeply asleep hostage to McGonagall. Hermione was the last to go.

The old wizard gave her a warm smile. "I hope all is well, Miss Granger?"

She nodded, glancing at Professor McGonagall from the corner of her eye. She recalled Malfoy's expression again, a small smile taking her lips.

"Better than before, I believe."

Dumbledore looked satisfied and tapped his wand on her forehead. Her vision blurred, making the last thing she saw was the bright twinkle in his clear blue eyes, looking as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.

.

The moment Hermione broke the surface of the black lake; she took a huge gulp of air, and pushed strands of her hair out of her face. The frigid winter wind blew against her wet face, causing the artic water to feel warm in comparison. Viktor was swimming next to her looking tired, his hand holding onto her arm, and the crowd was roaring with cheers. He swam to the end of the lake and helped her walk out. Thick blankets were immediately thrown over them, and she followed him to the side where Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang were resting, having obviously arrived minutes before they did. Surprisingly, Fluer was there as well, but alone. The champion was being looked over by mediwitches and wailing in French about her failure.

"Herm-own-ninny," Viktor turned to her. "Are you okay? Cold?"

She shook her head. "I'm all right. Thanks for saving me so quickly. What did you use?"

He gave her a small smile but had a look of disappointment in his eyes. "I did human transfiguration, it vaz very difficult so it did not vork very veil…"

"Nonsense!" Hermione assured. "Human Transfiguration is very advanced spell work. The fact that I'm here is evidence of your skill."

Viktor shot her a grateful smile. Before he could speak again, the crowd erupted with noise and Hermione turned to see three heads pop out of the lake's surface.

Immense relief rushed through her whole body. She recognized Ron's alarming hair color against the dark water and Harry's glasses nearly falling off the tip of his nose. It had worked! He was alive and had even brought the Fleur's hostage with him. The three of them wadded out of the lake and walked over towards them wrapped in thick blankets. Fleur ran up to the him spluttering dramatic thank you's and planting kisses on Harry's cheeks.

The scores were finally announced, leaving Harry to tie first place with Cedric. Apparently Dumbledore had talked to the Merchieftaness and had given extra points for having exceptional 'moral fiber' even though he had returned well after the hour time limit.

Viktor appeared disappointed again, and Fleur looked happy just to have her sister back.

Hermione squatted down and gave a reassuring pat on the Bulgarian's shoulder. "Viktor don't look like that, you did well."

His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I haff not done veil enough."

"Stop it!" she whisper yelled. What was it with boys and points? "You were great. Don't think that points determine everything. You're well alive and besides, there's still the third task."

Viktor just gave her a pout that utterly did not fit with the rest of his image. "I am still behind."

She gave him a sharp look, daring him to try and contradict her again. After all those weeks of talking, she knew he was under an immense amount of pressure from his school to make it out as the champion. If she were to be honest, she didn't even care who won, just as long as Harry made it out alive—Viktor as well.

He just sighed and raised an eyebrow, appearing slightly less disappointed with himself. Giving him another reassuring pat, she stood up and followed him back to Dumbledore where they would be dried off and sent back to the castle.

The common room was brimming was chatter, and everyone was curious as to what it was like underwater. Hermione simply told them that she had been in a deep sleep, and rolled her eyes as Ron fabricated a story of him fighting off merpeople while waiting for Harry to retrieve him.

Once the hype of the second task began to die down, she happily slipped back into her routine.

It was Friday, which meant double potions with Slytherin. As she neared the dungeons with Harry and Ron, she noticed a group of Slytherins crowding around something and snickering. Pansy Parkinson turned to her, a mocking smile on her face, and a copy of Witch Weekly in her hand.

Hermione raised her eyebrow and risked a glance at Malfoy. He looked a bit different, but she couldn't place it. The next second, Pansy threw the magazine at her which she caught reflexively.

"I think you'll find it quite interesting, Granger."

The Slytherins snickered again, but quieted as Snape appeared and ordered everyone inside. She sat in the back of the class with the boys to her left and opened the magazine, reading through its contents with a roll of her eyes.

Rita Skeeter had written another ridiculous article about her being a heart breaker, and betraying Harry's love for Viktor Krum. She read through the quotes with narrowed eyes, and bit her tongue in suspicion. There were lines about him expressing his concern over her health right after the second task, and quotes of Hermione thanking him for saving her life and telling him that he was great. The last sentence suggested her brewing love potions illegally. What a load of rubbish! She snorted. But how the hell had Skeeter heard what she and Viktor were saying to each other? She doubted even the other champions had heard their conversation through the noise of the crowd.

"What is it?" Harry whispered, chopping through the white root.

She tossed the article at him under the table and shook her head, still trying to think if she had noticed the horrid woman. But that was impossible, Dumbledore had banished her from the grounds.

"Rita Skeeter and her usual lies again," she explained quietly. "Don't think of it."

Ron shot her an I-told-you-so look after scanning the article over Harry's shoulder, and crushed his black beetles with renewed energy. "What did I say? I told you not to mess with her!"

Hermione simply grabbed the magazine from Harry's hands, and tossed the material over her shoulder and into the trash.

"It doesn't even matter," she hissed at Ron. "It's all lies anyway."

"She wrote you out to be a scarlet woman!" he replied louder than necessary.

"Ron!" she protested, trying to clam him down.

Too late.

"I see you three are having quite the conversation back here," Snape sneered, his tall stature looming over them intimidatingly. "Ten points from Gryffindor, I do want to hear you proclaiming your love for Weasley in my class, Miss Granger."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Harry kicked her under the table. Pansy Parkinson smirked.

"Professor," she informed. "I'm sure it was Potter proclaiming his love. Although I wouldn't be surprised if Weasley drank one of her love potions as well."

Hermione glared at the girl, multiple retorts barely held back by her clamped teeth. Snape raised an eyebrow, a sharp glint in his black eyes.

"You three, separate—I can't have you distracted by your pathetic love lives in my class," he pointed with a finger. "Weasley stay here, Miss Granger next to Mr. Malfoy, and Potter, the front most table. Move."

Hermione bit her tongue and grabbed all her things, shoving them into her bag with more force than necessary. This whole situation was utterly unfair! She released three calming exhales and walked next to Malfoy, setting her stuff over the empty side of the table on the left.

He wasn't looking at her, but he wasn't sneering at her either. She set her cauldron down and resumed crushing the beetles into fine powder. After a few minutes of working, her anger began to subside, ruled over by the need to perfect the potion.

Malfoy's elbow often collided with hers, but she didn't say a word. She thought he was doing it on purpose just to annoy her, and glanced over to realize that it was because he was left-handed. No wonder no one usually sat to the left of him. She scrunched her nose in thought; why hadn't she noticed that before? She'd seen him write essays plenty of times.

Pondering the thought, she set her mind back to the task in front of her, making sure to add three clockwise stirs every two minutes. Hermione decided to scoot over a few inches, giving him more space on the table. She caught his gaze as she moved away, his grey eyes looking at her almost… questioningly. She stared back and held her breath not trusting herself to say anything to him at the moment. They weren't friends—he might have been somewhat civil in the library, but that was when he was alone.

She held the contact for a second longer, watching his pupils dilate rapidly, as if he stepped into a dark room. She tore her eyes away first, nearly missing her three stirs after another two minutes had gone by. She resumed breathing and tried to focus on getting the color of her potion accurate.

Hermione inwardly sighed. He definitely looked different, but she just couldn't figure out what it was.

* * *

A/N: I'm glad I finally got to write some actual progress between the two, I swear they are _thee_ most stubborn pair I have ever had the fortune of writing. Ah, well, that's why we all love them.

Personally, I like the way they have Neville give Harry the gillyweed in the movies, even though Moody had to kinda force it on him—I don't know—the boy needs some credit for his knowledge so I wrote it as such. Hope it was okay. And I'm curious, did you guys like reading about Dobby getting the gillyweed, or watching Neville get it? Leave me with your thoughts!

El


	6. Beetle Exchange

Disclaiming as usual: Still penniless.

* * *

Chapter 6: Beetle Exchange

.

When Hogsmeade weekend came around, Hermione, Harry and Ron went to visit Sirius; bringing him loads of food that they had sneaked out of the great hall.

A large black dog was sitting outside the village, and dashed towards them as they approached. Harry broke out into a smile.

"Hello Sirius," he lowered his voice, making sure no one was paying particular attention to them.

The dog tilted its head and started to trot away from the shops. They followed him into the woods, climbing over large bounders and nearly tripping over roots. Hermione huffed and struggled to keep up, but the boys weren't in any better shape either.

By the time they squeezed through a narrow opening in the mountain, she was sweating and trying to fan herself with her robes without much success. Sirius had already transformed back to his normal self and began tearing through the food Harry set down. She bowed to Buckbeak and patted its muzzle gently after he acknowledged her presence.

Harry began describing the mysterious absence of Mr. Crouch—Hermione repeatedly pressing the fact that the man had sacked an innocent house-elf after accusing her of casting the dark mark. They exchanged theories, but she could tell the older wizard was withholding information. He muttered to himself and narrowed his eyes constantly, and tried to dampen their curiosity with vague explanations. Harry recalled the people behind him in the top box of the Quidditch World Cup, trying to consider if his wand was taken instead of lost, but the conversation hadn't led anywhere productive.

After a few hours of talk, Harry assured his godfather that he would continue to write about anything unusual, and agreed to send him more food later. They bid him and Buckbeak farewell and began their hike back to Hogsmeade village, hoping to stop by some shops before retuning to the castle.

.

Hermione had been so occupied with other pressing matters; the following morning came as a painful surprise. She had forgotten all about the ridiculous article and opened a mass of hateful letters at breakfast, only to have burning acid explode from the third envelope and splatter all over her hands.

She hissed and stood up immediately, wiping off the yellow pus from her skin to the best of her ability. Her eyes stung with painful tears but she held them back.

"Hermione you all right?" Harry stood up as well offering her more napkins.

She grunted in response, not trusting her voice. Ron grabbed the hate letters and read through them, giving her I-told-you-so look. "Blimey! Look at these Harry—they're horrid!"

"I think you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Harry urged, glancing at the curious eyes that were shooting in their direction.

"I told you," Ron scowled. "You shouldn't have snapped at Skeeter! I'm chucking these out—"

Ignoring Ron's stream of curses, she took Harry's advice and skipped the rest of breakfast, dashing out of the Great Hall with her burned hands against her chest.

Madam Pomfrey was outraged that she had been under such shameless accusations. Unlike the rest of the Hogwarts population, Hermione had grown quite close to the nurse after visiting multiple times every year, and she immediately tossed the article written by Skeeter as lies. Once her hands were wrapped tightly in white bandages, Madam Pomfrey gave her a stern look telling her to be careful and shooed her out the door.

Hermione hadn't bothered to open any letters after that—not like she could anyway. Her hands were so sensitive for the next few days; even turning the pages in the book she was reading felt like she had touched the surface of a frying pan.

It was Wednesday again. She dropped off her things in the common room and made her way to the deserted seventh floor hallway. Gritting her teeth, she pulled out the Time Turner from her robes and twisted the hourglass twice, careful not to break the delicate device. After opening her eyes to find herself back in time, she gripped her wand with difficulty, cast the disillusionment charm and made her way to Malfoy's Charms class.

If she had been counting correctly, Malfoy would be heading to the library today. After following him for over half a year every week, she had his schedule burned into the back of her head like her own.

Sure enough, he stepped through the old doors of the library, his bag slung over his shoulder. Hermione decided to simply release the spell and pretend she had been in the library the whole time, it's not like it would have been a surprise. Taking deep breaths, she strode through the towering shelves, grumbling that she could barely hold a book for more than five minutes without her hands stinging.

She heard Malfoy plop down on a chair before she rounded the corner and stopped to see him. He glanced up at her footsteps and stared back. For a moment, she thought it would be like the day she was forced to sit next to him in potions, but he broke the silence the next second.

"Are you going to stand there or sit down, Granger?" he raised an eyebrow.

Hermione stopped mid breath. It was a miracle. This was probably the first time he had spoken to her first without including the words 'leave', 'no' and 'mudblood'. Feeling incredibly accomplished, she walked over to his table and sat at the opposite end, trying to clamp down her smile.

He gave her a quizzical look before picking up his quill and rolling out a fresh sheet of parchment. "Why are you always here at this time?"

She titled her head in confusion as she watched him write, the quill in his right hand. "I'm at the library at all times."

"Yeah?" he narrowed his eyes. "Even during class?"

Hermione's mouth went dry. She quickly pulled out of her surprise and raised an eyebrow. "I don't have class."

It was twisted logic. He other self had class, but her current self didn't.

"Don't lie, Granger," he said a bit more forcefully. "I know you fourth year Gryffindors have History of Magic _right now._"

She felt her blood pound like a cornered animal. So that's why he had called her over. He wanted answers.

"Did you ever consider I've been excused from time to time?" she said smoothly.

He frowned. "It's a core class, you can't be excused from it. Now stop lying and—"

"And what?" she snapped. "Tell you the truth? You obviously don't believe anything I say anyway. What's to say I'm not telling you the truth right now?"

Malfoy took a sharp breath and looked like he was about to yell some obscenity at her. To her surprise, he settled for a cold stare and gave her a look that showed the conversation wasn't over.

"If I can't believe you, then maybe I'll go to Binns myself and ask," he offered. "I'm sure he'll tell me. I'm rather dying to know how you're getting out of the class."

She froze. That would be breaking the laws of time. If Malfoy stormed into her class right now, he would see her other self, sitting with Harry and Ron. It would completely mess up everything she had worked for.

Her heartbeat raced. Why was this happening? There was no Malfoy bursting through the doors of her History of Magic class earlier, so it shouldn't be happening now. Hermione groaned as she remembered the complicated situation. The first time she had class, Malfoy had spent time alone in the library; she wasn't there as a trigger for him to reach this conclusion. But now that she had used the Time Turner, she was changing events.

Obviously set on his decision, Malfoy stood from his chair and started to walk out of the library. Horrified, she jumped after him and yelled at him to hold on, which only pushed him to walk faster. Hermione cursed his longer legs, took two jumping strides and reached out to grab his shoulder.

"Wait, Malfoy—Ow!"

She retracted her hand immediately, feeling her palm burst with tingling pain. She had forgotten how sensitive her skin was. He stopped and turned on his heel, catching sight of her bandaged hands before she pulled them behind her back.

"What's with your hands?" he asked, looking quite displeased. He probably thought she had some kind of contagious disease.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to pull down her sleeves. There was no way she was going to tell him she received an envelope full of burning pus. She would never hear the end of it.

He raised an eyebrow. "That so? Probably burned yourself making a concoction to lure Krum."

She glared at him, her temper snapping. "I did _not_ give him anything! How many times do I have to tell you? And what did I say about taking everything at face value? Especially things from Rita Skeeter—that cowardly—"

Hermione cut herself off, realizing her mistake. Malfoy was smirking, his head tilted in victory.

"Oh—so Rita Skeeter's little article got to you?" he asked with fake innocence.

Shit.

He had played her. Malfoy could have easily come to the same conclusion of her creating love potions based on their talk at the Yule Ball. He never mentioned anything about Skeeter, until she just gave him the answer.

Now that she thought about it, his idea to walk in her class was probably a false threat as well. This was Malfoy she was thinking about, he would never bend his pride and walk in, asking why Hermione Granger was getting excused from class. Biting her tongue, she let the failure settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Fine," she growled in anger at herself. "I had a nice surprise of acid in an envelope the other morning. Interesting isn't it?"

The corner of his lips pulled down slightly, and his eyes narrowed. He regarded her with a strange look. It was one she recognized—he was having clashing thoughts in his head, probably considering if he should taunt her or owl flowers to the acid sender.

"Granger, your situation is as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season," he finally replied sarcastically. "Actually, the beetle seems far more interesting now that I give it some thought."

She gave him a death glare, but he didn't seem affected.

Malfoy simply pulled on a triumphant smirk before walking around her and returning to the table.

She nearly split her tongue in half biting it so hard. The nerve of him! First he taunts her, tricks her into telling him what happened, and then mocks her. She took a few calming breaths, repeating to herself that cursing Malfoy would make Dumbledore incredibly disappointed. And Merlin knew she hated falling short of people's expectations. Pulling up the memory when she had punched him last year, she replayed the memory multiple times until she was smiling with amusement. That had felt exceptionally good.

Deciding that she couldn't spend another moment in his presence without repeating the memory in her head, Hermione turned the other way and stalked to her usual table, carefully sliding a book off the shelf. She needed a serious distraction from a certain blonde that was in the other side of the library before either of them ended in Madam Pomfrey's hands.

.

March flew by faster than normal. After fully recovering her hands, Hermione was burning with determination, going through book after book on spying or information gathering. She was going to find out how Rita Skeeter was getting her information, and nothing could stop her.

After Defense Against the Dark Arts was over, she stayed behind to ask Professor Moody if he had seen anything at the second task with that magical eye of his, but returned negative.

She didn't get a chance to talk to Malfoy for the rest of the month as he was constantly hanging out in the Slytherin dungeons, or she didn't have her temper in check that particular week. She just couldn't risk it, especially after he questioned the reason for not being in class. Even if the entire thing was a carefully schemed plot, he knew something was off and she wasn't planning on revealing the mission anytime soon.

As the first week of April came rolling in, Hermione tossed another useless book that still hadn't given her the answer. Rita Skeeter didn't write another nasty article about her, Harry and Viktor, but there was no stopping the woman in the future. She just _had _to figure out how the blasted woman was getting her information.

She practically stormed back to the common room after classes were over, Harry and Ron walking with a significant amount of distance between them as if she were about to combust at any moment.

"Give it up, Hermione," Ron suggested. "There's no point."

"I won't!" she insisted. "I'm going to find out how she's hearing on supposedly private conversations!"

"Probably has bugs around the castle to spy on us," Harry joked. "Using muggle technology would be unexpected after all."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's impossible. Muggle technology goes haywire anywhere near Hogwarts—haven't you read Hogwarts: A His—"

She stopped in her tracks, causing Ron and Harry to nearly crash into her. Her thoughts were running at a hundred miles an minute.

This just couldn't be possible.

"Hermione?" Harry called, waving his hand in front of her face. "You all right?"

Clamping her jaw, she turned to his sharply with wide eyes. "Harry, you told me you and Ron saw Hagrid talking with Madam Maxime—"

"Well not purposely!" Ron defended.

"I know!" she raised a hand cutting him off. "I'm asking… did you see anything around?"

Harry thought for a minute and shrugged. "Can't say. I was trying to focus on this beetle throughout their conversation, so I didn't really look around… Ron did you?"

She took a sharp breath, ignoring Ron's answer. She had heard enough.

Hermione quickly replayed the memory of Viktor helping her to the sidelines after the second task and frowned in concentration. There had been a large ground beetle in the corner. She remembered thinking it was odd, seeing the insect out in the cold February weather.

_Your situation is as interesting to me as the large beetle I saw the other day out of season. _

She gasped.

_Actually, the beetle seems far more interesting now that I give it some thought. _

"Hermione what's wrong?" Ron asked, looking slightly scared.

"No…" she barely whispered.

It just couldn't be. She was an animagus—an unregistered one at that, but Malfoy couldn't have possible known it was Rita Skeeter. Even if he had known, the fact that he had told her was something she couldn't process.

"What?" Ron said in confusion. "Bloody hell, what is going on?"

She finally turned to him and shook her head. "Nothing… I'll tell you guys when I'm absolutely sure."

Both boys gave her a looks of curiosity and slight fear, seemingly not wanting to know just what she had discovered. They mumbled in agreement and continued their walk to the Gryffindor tower. Hermione didn't remember following them, but the next moment, she was sitting on her bed, staring out the window.

It had been so damn obvious! How could she have not put the two together? How long has it been since Malfoy had said that to her—a little less than a month? Groaning, she dropped her head on the fluffy pillow and cursed her lack of sense. She had been so mad at herself after, everything he said to her had practically entered one ear and left the other.

Just what was Malfoy thinking? Why would he give such a hint to her anyway? Her mind drifted to her injured hands but cut the thought immediately. That was absurd. He may have started to slowly tolerate her presence without pulling out his wand, but he was still far from being genuinely polite. The idea of him telling her because she had been hurt was so far-fetched it was almost funny.

She felt her throat tighten when she realized he was possibly striking up a silent deal. He would give her information on Skeeter, and ask for something in return. It was the closest idea that was Malfoy-like enough. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, dread filling her chest, she could only hope he wouldn't demand the unreasonable. But again—this was Malfoy she was thinking about.

Her stomach did flips when she registered the fact that it was Tuesday evening. She would most likely talk to Malfoy tomorrow. He had visited the library once over the last month but Hermione felt simply unprepared to talk to him that day, so she watched him do his homework, going back to analyzing his expressions again.

After grumbling for another ten minutes, she rose from her bed, deciding that she had enough time to feel sorry for herself. When tomorrow came around, she would have a plan.

Wednesday evening, Hermione was standing in front of the Quidditch pitch, her plan completely out the window.

She had hoped Malfoy would go to the library today, but he had decided to make use of the clear April weather, grabbed his broom and took off within minutes of leaving class.

She sighed and leaned against the wall of the short tunnel, hidden from view. The bleachers were folded up and not a single other person was in sight. Malfoy had released the snitch a few minutes after taking off, and Hermione continued to watch him fly around the pitch. The moment he spotted it, his lowered his torso and flew like a bullet, chasing after the tiny golden ball. After catching it, he would throw it in the air again, letting it speed off for another round.

She had watched him fly dozens of times since September, and she still couldn't stop herself from admiring his skill. Once Malfoy had caught the snitch for the third time, she sucked up all her Gryffindor courage and released the charm. She stepped out of the shaded tunnel, and walked onto the grassy field.

For a moment, she held her breath and gazed around the pitch. She had never been on the Quidditch field before and quickly realized that sitting in the bleachers and standing on the actual field were two completely different feelings—and she wasn't even playing a game.

Hermione glanced at the sky, looking for Malfoy's figure. She spotted him high above the goal posts and jumped when something zoomed by her ear. Turning her head, she saw a small golden ball fly around her head, its wings a complete blur from the speed of its movement. She trailed the snitch as it flew around her, awed at the size and speed of the tiny ball. She would never admit it, but she felt a sense of serious admiration for Harry and even Malfoy.

There was a distinct sound of billowing robes to her right. She turned her head, finally noticing Malfoy dive straight at her, cutting through the air like lighting. In the next second his gloved hand shot in front of her face, missing her nose by millimeters and closing on the snitch. The rest of his body followed, flying past her. He jerked his broom into a sharp turn towards her but still hovered a good six feet in the air.

He was panting slightly, and Hermione could see his pale skin glisten with sweat, his cheeks tinged pink from the rush of blood. It felt extremely odd to see him up close like that. He was usually so posed, looking like a carved statue.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, interrupting her thoughts. "Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day—Granger stepping on the field."

She rolled her eyes and craned her neck to look at him. "I saw you from the library window and came to ask you something."

That had been a lie but he obviously didn't have to know that.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want?"

"The question is, what is it that _you _want?" she asked, feeling nervous again.

He didn't seem to understand. "I want for what?"

"For telling me about Skeeter," she clarified, watching his expression.

Malfoy's lips curved into an amused smirk. "Don't tell me you just figured it out? Really, how idiotic—"

"I was a little angry!" she interrupted, feeling embarrassed that it had taken her so long. Not that she was ever going to admit that to him. "And you can't blame me for not taking what you say seriously. It's not like you especially think about what I say either."

That was a lie as well, but Malfoy didn't know she saw him pick up books from the muggle study section during Christmas break.

His grey eyes regarded her carefully. Hermione fidgeted under his stare, and gulped down her anxiety. He wouldn't ask for anything unreasonable, right?

"Tell you what, Granger," he began. "There is not a single thing that you can reveal to me that has the same weight with what I told you about Skeeter. So instead, you will owe me a favor."

"A favor?" she repeated, feeling her heart lodged in her throat. "What exactly?"

"I'm not sure yet," he said smoothly. "But swear to me right now that you will remember and fulfill it when the time comes."

She cringed back. "Not a chance. I don't trust you with something as heavy as that."

"It has nothing to do with trust," he sneered. "Are you really going to walk away from someone who helped you? I thought you have more honor than that, Granger."

Hermione growled under her breath. He was hitting her buttons with expert precision, trapping her where it meant the most.

"I do," she argued. "Only, you would ask me to jump off a cliff as a favor, so no."

"As much as that would be a favor to everyone, not only me," he replied. She glared at him. "I'm not going to ask for anything regarding your life and death. It's a favor that's ultimately going to benefit _me._"

"Of course," she muttered, fighting off the instinct for her to run from the field immediately. Every cell in her body was waving in alarm, telling her she wasn't in a good situation. How could she ever place that level of trust in Malfoy?

_That same feeling must be given, even to those who you think are undeserving of it._

Clamping her eyes shut, she tried to fight off Dumbledore's words. It just wasn't working.

She sighed.

Maybe it would benefit her task in the long run. She was trying to change Malfoy's views after all. He certainly wasn't going to make the first move so she had to be the one to give her trust before she could expect anything in return.

"I swear it," she spoke through clenched teeth, peeling her eyelids back and staring at the grass. "On my honor, I will grant you one _reasonable_ favor in the future."

Hermione took a deep breath and glanced at him defiantly. He looked slightly surprised as if he was ready to fight her for her to agree.

A satisfied smirk took his lips.

"You swore it," he repeated. "Don't forget."

"I won't," she said strongly, crossing her arms.

"Very well. Have you caught her?" Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

"What?" she frowned, confused at the change in topic. "Oh—Skeeter? No, not yet. But I will… very soon. She's going to regret writing all those horrible lies. How did you find out about her anyway?"

He gave her an as-if-I'm-going-to-tell-you look. "That's something I won't disclose. Can't have you know all my secrets, now can I?"

She pursed her lips and gave him a pleading look. "Then can I ask for your help?"

"You want _my _help?" he repeated. "What for?"

"To catch her," she said. "I have a plan."

"And are you going to owe me another favor in return?" he slyly suggested.

She grimaced. "Can't you help me this once without making it into some kind of exchange?"

"That's inconceivable," he sharply replied. "I don't help people out of the goodness of my heart, Granger."

There was an annoyed glint in his eyes, but it didn't seem to be directed at her. She inwardly sighed, her neck hurting from the continuous strain.

"Please?" she tried, flashing him a smile.

He seemed disgusted instead. "No. You'll owe me another favor or leave me be. The fact that I'm still here listening to you is already difficult enough."

She scowled and grumbled in frustration. Now was not the time for her pride.

"All right, fine. I will owe you two favors," she agreed reluctantly. There wasn't much he could ask her anyway. "On my honor as a Gryffindor. Now will you listen to me?"

"Start talking," he directed.

Hermione glared at him but told him the plan. He listened intently, and nodded slightly in understanding, raising eyebrows from time to time.

Once she made sure he understood, she finally agreed to leave him in peace to fly.

"You know, you're actually a good person, Malfoy." She said honestly, but hoping to lower his defenses. "It's a shame no one else gets to see this side of you."

He blinked twice, eyes widening, then narrowing. He regarded her silently, giving her that _look _again—as if he was trying to decide between two evidently difficult emotions. But knowing Malfoy, he was probably caught between yelling at her and sneering at her.

Not wanting to receive either of those, she waved and spun on her heel dashing off the Quidditch pitch, her shoes digging into the ground. She didn't look back once, missing the grey eyes that watched her retreating form all the way back to the castle.

* * *

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! You guys melt my heart.

El


	7. The Weight of Honor

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. Nada. Nala. Simba.

* * *

Chapter 7: The Weight of Honor

.

Warm rays of sunlight soon replaced the light spring breeze as May came around. Hermione basked in front of the black lake, trying to forget all her problems for a sold half hour. She closed her eyes and lied in the grass, listening to the wind pick up around her ears and her hair tousling in the breeze. Her homework for next week had been finished since yesterday, and all she wanted was a moment to melt away in silence.

Nothing lasted long enough.

Turning to the side, she began to think about everything that had happened in the last month. The third task was announced at the start of the summer term. She nearly pulled her hair out after hearing Harry had to go through a maze filled with wild creatures—why couldn't anything be safe for him?

To top the night off, he and Viktor had met Mr. Crouch by the Forbidden Forest, apparently delusional and muttering incoherently about Voldemort. Viktor was stunned by the time Dumbledore arrived, and it was best to say that Karkaroff was not too happy about the incident. They three of them had a brief conversation with Professor Moody once he returned from the forest, but Crouch had escaped the grounds somehow.

She and Ron were constantly helping Harry with new spells that would keep him alive during the third task, but it wasn't enough to ease the lump of nervousness in her throat.

It was Friday evening after their Double Potions class, and they were having another training session with Harry in an empty classroom that McGonagall had lent them.

Ron tired out first as usual and leaned towards the open window, letting the wind blow against his face.

"Hey look," he called after a few minutes. "Malfoy's out there. What'd you reckon he's doing?"

Her heart jumped slightly at his name as she made her way to the window with Harry. Peaking out the frame, she spotted the blonde against a tree holding his hand up to his face as if he was talking to it. Crabbe and Goyle were behind him, seemingly looking for any spectators.

She didn't think she'd see Malfoy play his part. Hermione broke out into a smile, but suppressed it when Harry's voice broke through.

"Looks like he's using a mobile phone or something," he suggested, not looking particularly interested.

She forced down her excitement and shook her head at Harry. "I told you those things don't work here. Come on—you have to work on your shield charm."

Nodding, Harry followed her back to the center of the classroom, practicing the shield over and over.

After an hour of hard work, both boys were exhausted and agreed to head down to dinner. Ron practically bolted out of the room, eager to stuff himself full of food. She grabbed Harry's arm, and hushed him before he tried to ask.

"Listen Harry," she whispered, watching Ron head down to the Great Hall. His mind was obviously filled with the idea of dinner, he didn't notice his two best friends trail behind. "Tomorrow after dinner, can you come to the third classroom in the North Tower? I have something to tell you."

"Why?" he frowned. "What's going on?"

She shook her head. "It's a plan to catch Rita Skeeter. Just remember, everything I tell you in that room is a _lie._ Got it?"

Harry nodded slowly, giving her a strange look. "All right… what am I supposed to do?"

"Just react to what say," she suggested. "But at least try and act like you don't know I'm lying."

"So you're going to spout some nonsense and hope Rita Skeeter arrives?" he raised an eyebrow. "You do know she's banned from the grounds, right?"

"Of course I know that," she affirmed. "But I have no doubt in my mind that she'll be there. I just need your help in bringing her closer so I can catch her."

"Erm—how exactly are you going to catch her?" he inquired, obviously confused.

"Just trust me on this, Harry," she said. "I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He gave her a curious look but held his questions back. "Okay, I'll be there. But what about Ron?"

She inwardly smirked. Having him there would be a disaster. "Don't let him know. Shake him off after dinner and meet me up there."

"All right, Hermione," he sighed in defeat. "I hope your plan works."

"It will," she smiled, feeling relieved. "And remember to act surprised."

After agreeing and bobbing his head multiple times, Hermione finally let go of his wrist and they resumed their walk to the Great Hall. Ron didn't even seem to notice their momentary disappearance.

Once dinner was over, she excused herself from the boys and left the large walls of Hogwarts, making her way down a familiar path towards the Durmstrang ship. The wind seemed to blow even harder near the lake, but Hermione gritted her teeth and continued onward. She spotted a group of Durmstrang students by the dock, and made their way towards them.

"Uhm—hello?" she greeted as a younger boy noticed her approach. She recognized him from the ball, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to tell she was the same girl who went to the ball with their champion.

"Hallo," he greeted back. "Ah—you are Herm-own."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes… Wow you actually recognize me?"

The boy barked a short laugh. "Viktor told everevon about you, so ve could not ask you to the ball."

"Oh," she buried her face in her scarf as she felt her cheeks flare. "Well, I'm actually looking for Viktor. Is he around?"

His nose scrunched up in thought. "He is inside. Follow me."

Before she could take back her words and say she'll come back tomorrow morning, the Bulgarian stalked off and Hermione scurried after him without another choice.

"I thought your Headmaster doesn't allow visitors?" she asked quietly as they walked up the side.

"Veil, Karkaroff is not in," he explained, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Hermione just nodded, satisfied that the sharp looking man wasn't going to question her motives for coming. He would probably assume she was trying to trick Viktor or get some information to Harry.

They walked through the large opening and into the halls, passing by the dining room and the large living area. After cutting some corners, the boy arrived at a wooden door at the end of the hallway and banged on it, shouting in Bulgarian.

A few seconds later, Viktor's voice shouted back in the foreign language, muffled by the surprisingly thick walls.

The boy sighed and yelled something again. Instead of responding, she heard rushed footsteps from inside the room, and the door swung open by a quick pull.

Viktor appeared in the doorway, dressed in a loose sleeveless shirt, his wand in hand. She could see traces of sweat near his hairline and noticed the way his breath sounded slightly heavier than usual. He looked at the boy for a second before turning to notice her, eyes wide.

"Herm-own-ne!" he blinked a few times, looking shocked.

The boy said a few words to Viktor that sounded awfully a lot like the tone of 'I told you so' and stalked off. Viktor snorted and shook his head. He finally turned back to her.

"Sorry—come in?" he moved to the side, and she slipped past him with a nervous smile.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, Viktor," she bit her lip, not knowing where to go.

The room was quite spacious filled with odd things here and there. There was a comfy looking bed against the far wall with a desk, nightstand, and a large trunk at the leaning against the bedframe. The wall to her right looked completely beat up with all kind of scorch marks and cuts.

"You are not bothering me," he assured. "I vos practicing spells for the third task, so I told them not to disturb me. I thought Jarod vos lying to me so I vould leave the room—"

She released a quiet 'Oh' and nodded in understanding. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a small handkerchief, and handed it to him with an amused smile.

A light flush crossed his face, and he took it with a silly grin.

"Thank you… Vot brings you here?" he asked, wiping his forehead. "Is it something bad?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "No, not at all. And well, it's not the main reason, but are you all right? I haven't seen you in the library since I heard you were attacked."

Viktor's face darkened. "I am okay, vos hit by a stunning spell by the mad Crouch man… and I vonted to practice for the third task so I haff been spending more time here." He gave her a slight smile. "Vot is the other reason?"

"Tomorrow after dinner, do you think you can meet me in the third classroom of the North Tower?" she asked immediately.

His face twisted in thought.

"It's also called the Divination Tower," she explained. His eyes lit up in recognition. "Take the staircase to the seventh floor, and the third classroom to the right is empty."

"I can," he confirmed. "Vot is going on?"

She gave him a mischievous grin. "I have a plan to catch Rita Skeeter, and I need your help."

"The voman that vrote bad things about you and Harry Potter?"

"The one and only," she nodded. "But once I catch her, she's not going to be writing anymore lies."

"Vot are you planning?"

"You'll see," she smiled. "I just need you to meet me there after dinner. And remember that everything I tell you will be lies. Don't believe them."

"Lie?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, it's part of my plan," she explained. "But you have to react like you don't know I'm lying. Can you do it?"

He looked jokingly offended. "Of course, I vill be there."

"Thanks, Viktor," she glanced at the tattered wall. "Your spell work looks great by the way."

"I haff much vork to do still," he said sheepishly.

"Then I'll leave you now," she smiled, feeling relieved. "And make sure to rest, I need your help tomorrow."

"I vill volk you back," he insisted.

"Oh, but…" he shot her an unwavering look. "Oh, all right. Thank you."

Viktor tucked his wand away and pulled the heavy door open for her, gesturing for her to leave first. Muffling a giggle, she left his room and followed him down the hall. He led her in a different route than Jarod had, giving her a quick tour of the ship and it's communal rooms. She lost her breath at the sheer size of the place and concluded that it had been magically enlarged from the inside.

Viktor walked with her all the way to the castle, keeping up a light conversation to fill the silence. As she neared the archways, Hermione turned to face him.

"I'll be okay from here," she assured. "Thanks for walking me."

He gave her a small smile before leaning down and giving her a quick kiss on her cheek. He lingered near her ear. "I vill alvays be here to help you, Hermione."

Before she could even react properly, he pulled back just as quickly and retreated from his position, giving her one last wave before turning around and melting into the night.

She felt her face practically burn red the following second. She released a delicate breath before bringing her fingers to her face and lightly placed them over her cheekbone. Her heart raced faster, and her stomach did summersaults under her skin.

Forcing herself to move and walk back to the Gryffindor tower, she pushed down her blush, asking herself why the ruddy hell she hadn't spent more time with Viktor before.

.

The day crept by slowly and Hermione's hands were itching for night to fall. When her last class was over, she headed to dinner with Harry and Ron, neatly stabbing her peas with her fork and running through the plan in her mind. Tonight was going to be written in her personal history book. She would catch that blasted Skeeter woman once in for all.

Deciding to head up, she sent Harry a look. He glanced back from across the table, nodded and mouthed 'okay' at her. She lifted her head and looked across the Great Hall, lowering her gaze on the Slytherin table. Viktor was sitting to the far left. She gave him a quick smile as she remembered the previous night's events, and dared to scan the table for a mop of white blonde hair. As if he had been staring at her already, she locked eyes with him and raised an eyebrow. He sneered in return; turning his eyes away the next second. She snorted, that was probably the best kind of acknowledgement she was going to get.

"I'm heading to the library," she announced, getting up from her place. No one bothered to question her.

Hermione trekked up to the North Tower and located the third classroom, pushing the large door open and stepping inside.

She flicked on the lights and surveyed the room. There was a large table in the back—presumably for the professor, and a few long wooden workstations stacked on top of each other to her left. She cleaned the offending dust and webbing with a wave of her wand, pulled down one of the long tables, and pushed it towards the center of the room.

There were several large windows across the wall, looking caked with age and dust. She walked over to the furthest window near the professor's desk and pushed it open with difficulty. The cool night air blasted her face, sending her hair flying in all directions. She grumbled and combed through the crazy locks with her fingers, and took a steadying breath.

Her stomach squirmed nervously as she began to pace around the room keeping an eye on the open window. Much to her own surprise, she didn't doubt Malfoy at all. If he had played his part convincingly, Rita Skeeter would be making her way towards the North Tower any moment.

As the minutes ticked by, she glanced at the window for the umpteenth time, and her eye caught on a dark ground beetle sitting innocently on the window frame.

_Got you. _

She quickly turned away and began pacing again, trying to appear nervous. A few paces later, the classroom door creaked opened and Harry walked in.

"Hermione?" he called, glancing around the room. "So, what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

She sucked in a breath and held up a hand. "Well, I'm waiting for someone else. He'll be here soon."

Genuine surprise flashed through his green eyes. "Er—well, all right."

He stood awkwardly near the back of the classroom, shifting his weight between his feet.

True to her word, the door opened again. Viktor slid through, glancing around the room, his gaze falling on her first.

"Herm-own-ne!" he greeted. He glanced right, finally noticing Harry. "Potter? Vot is going on… vie is he here?"

"Krum?" Harry looked a bit taken aback. "Hermione asked me to come here and talk to her."

"She said same to me," he frowned.

"I need to tell you both something very important," she interrupted, glancing at the window again. The beetle had left the frame and crawled to the professor's desk. It was closer to where they were standing, but not close enough. She needed to coax it closer. "I just didn't want anyone to overhear what I had to say…"

She quieted her voice glancing between Harry and Viktor.

"What is it?" Harry asked first.

"Well I wanted to tell you guys much earlier," she whispered, trying to sound scared. "But I just couldn't pluck up the courage. Promise you won't be mad?"

"Ve von't be mad," Viktor said, giving her a curious look.

"Well… the truth is," she started. "I'm actually dating Ron."

Even though she had told them she would be lying, both boys looked extremely surprised, or they were acting very well.

"What?" Harry gasped. "Ron? You're dating Ron?"

"The boy vit red hair? You are seeing him Herm-own-ne?" Viktor sounded outraged.

She squeaked, actually feeling slightly afraid. She took a few steps back towards the other desk she had shoved to the center of the room, noticing that her target had moved onto the corner of the table.

"Yes, I am so sorry," she whispered, reaching into her robes and pulling out her wand. Harry and Viktor both leaned back as if she was going to attack them. "I didn't mean to lie to you guys but I just never got the chance to say…"

With a quick flick, she conjured a glass jar and grabbed it with her free hand, holding it against her chest and away from the beetle's view.

"How could you keep that from me?" Harry asked, looking like he wanted to ask what she was doing.

"And lie to me," Viktor added, his accent thicker in his supposed anger. "You said you vos not seeing anyone."

"I just like Ron so much," she explained, gripping the bottom of the jar. "I couldn't admit it to you guys… Not when there are people out there—you see, who illegally listen to private conversations!"

Feeling her adrenaline rush, she turned on the spot with the jar in hand and slammed it down over the desk, trapping the large beetle inside. She pointed her wand at the glass and casted the unbreakable charm over it, sealing the lid with another flick. She poked tiny holes at the top for air and tucked her wand back in her robes.

The room fell silent.

Hermione's heart thudded with glee as she flipped the jar over, causing the beetle to tumble around and fall on its back. Its legs were squirming with mad movement as it righted itself and began to flick the glass.

"I got you," she finally said, starting intently at the insect. She caught distinct markings around its eyes, looking exactly like the dreadful glasses she wore in her human form. "Rita Skeeter."

"W-What?" Harry was the first to ask. "What did you get?"

Hermione turned around again lifted the jar for both of them to see.

"This. Rita Skeeter is an unregistered animagus, who takes form of a beetle," she explained. "She used this to spy on people and listen to conversations that normally she wouldn't be able to hear. That's how she's been getting into Hogwarts as well. See those marks? Those are her distinguishing features, looks awfully a lot like her glasses don't they?"

Both boys approached her slowly, staring into the glass. Hermione was sure if beetles had the muscle capacity to frown, Skeeter would have been glaring like death at them.

"Now that I think about it…" Harry muttered. "There was a beetle I saw when Hagrid and Madam Maxime were talking!"

"Exactly," Hermione agreed.

Viktor on the other hand, still looked overwhelmed by the information.

She raised the jar back up to her eyes, and flashed a smug smile. "In case you haven't figured it out, Skeeter, everything I said in here was a lie. I knew you would do anything for a chance to hear Viktor, Harry and I speak about secretive things, so I set this up. Can't transform back either, right? That's because I put an unbreakable charm on it."

"Hermione…" her green-eyed friend looked at her in awe.

She set the jar down and gave both boys a shy smile. "Er—sorry for using you guys, and especially sorry you had to hear me say something like that. I needed her to get in the classroom so the lies were needed—incredible acting skills though."

"I vos actually shocked," Viktor said honestly, still looking at the jar. "It vos no act."

"Same with me," Harry laughed nervously. "I know you said you would be lying but it still surprised me."

Hermione muffled a laugh. "Ron and I have more arguments than decent conversations. Good thing he's not here though right?"

"Yeah," he breathed back, a smile on his lips.

There was a strange sense of freedom in the air after knowing that Skeeter wouldn't be listening to any further conversations.

"And vot are you planning for her?" Viktor asked.

She narrowed her eyes at the jar and simply raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I have a pretty good idea…"

Both boys looked apprehensive.

.

Hermione was skipping for the rest of the week. The Quidditch pitch was being occupied for the third task, so Malfoy set his course back to the library on Wednesday evening.

She didn't bother with the disillusionment charm today, and nearly jumped into the free chair at his table.

Malfoy raised his head from his essay and lifted an eyebrow at her smile.

"Don't look so bloody jolly, Granger," he jeered. "You're disturbing me."

"Oh hush," she chided, keeping the smile on her face. "I can be as jolly as I want."

"You're practically prancing in the hallways," he said dryly. "I think I really regret helping you."

"You don't mean that!" her jaw lowered. "Stopping Skeeter was for the good of all wizarding kind."

He snorted. "Her articles were amusing. Actually, anything regarding Potter about to kick the bucket—"

She took a sharp breath. "Don't joke about that, Malfoy!"

"I can joke about anything I please."

"Then I can be as jolly as I please," she retorted.

He paused. "Is that so?" he asked, the lightness in his voice disappearing. "Even if I ask you why you're here?"

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"As one of the favors you owe me," he explained. "You're going to tell me the truth of why you're out of class from time to time. The truth, Granger."

Her blood froze in her veins and she went stiff. She should have seen this coming. Malfoy watched her with sharp eyes, her reaction not going unnoticed.

"I can't tell you that," she finally said, not meeting his gaze.

"You swore," he said lowly.

She crushed her tongue and focused on breathing through her nose; three deep exhales later, she unclamped her mouth.

"I know but this isn't just my secret to tell," she tried to explain. It was partially true. "Anything else but that, please Malfoy."

"You can't go back on your word like that," he growled, anger etched into his features. "You owe me at least that much."

"I can't!" she pleaded, sounding more desperate than she wanted to. "I—well—agreed not to disclose information."

"Are you bound by an unbreakable vow not to speak of it?" he questioned. "Does it regard your life or death?"

"No, but—"

"Then you can tell me!" he demanded, squashing the quill in his hands. "There's nothing binding you—"

"My honor is binding me!" she shot back. "I won't betray them—"

"And for me?" he spoke through clenched teeth. "Didn't you swear on your _honor_ as a Gryffindor that you would hold up your side of the deal? Is your integrity so much more greater for them than it is for me?"

Hermione's throat twisted into knots. He sounded upset—no, more bitter, and it bothered her more than it should have.

"That's not fair," she whispered. "You can't ask me to choose."

If she had been asked a year before, to pick between her loyalty to Dumbledore and her promise to Malfoy, she would have immediately chosen her headmaster. But now, she hesitated, and it unnerved her.

"I can't ask you to give me the same regard?" he locked his jaw; there was something that snapped in his eyes as he looked at her. "You know Granger, I thought you were different from your other brainless friends. But it turns out, you're no different after all."

She blinked, feeling her heart crack. Every breath she took felt heavy and prolonged. She didn't know why, but hearing him say that he was disappointed hurt her beyond reason.

"Now get out of my face, mudblood," he growled.

She winched. So it was back to mudblood again. He hadn't called her that since February, not even in the hallways. She risked looking in his eyes and saw nothing of that expression. They were slanted with his furrowed brows, no longer swimming with emotion but flat and cold. She saw a momentary shift in them where he looked hurt and betrayed, but was replaced by icy indifference again.

"Malfoy—"

"I said leave." He snapped.

Hermione clenched her hands into fists, wrinkling her robes. For some odd reason, she felt like he had a right to be angry, and she couldn't gather the energy to snap back at him.

For a brief moment, she considered being in his position. She clamped her eyes and thought. Was it possible that it wasn't the information itself that he wanted, but her trust? Such considerations would have originally been tossed out the window without another glance, but she just couldn't shake the thought away. She inwardly groaned. Did he feel stabbed in the back because she wouldn't place her faith in him?

But did she think less of him? She snapped her lids back and met his sharp eyes.

She didn't.

"Look," she thought hard, trying to decide how to word her confession. "I'm on this mission—researching really—to help someone—"

He snarled. "I don't want to hear it—"

"No!" she slammed her fist on the table, sending vibrations through it. "I'm going to tell you because you asked me, and my word for you is just as strong as it is for anyone else! I just—" she stammered. "—Momentarily forgot. I'm sorry…"

The ice in his eyes cracked as they widened a fraction, but she could see the barriers he set around himself like an impenetrable wall.

"You have to understand," she continued, "that I don't think of you any less than I do for Harry and Ron. Since I made a deal with you… I will hold up my side just as I would have done if it were anyone else… And you're right, I do owe you that much. I am sorry, really, if you want to know, I will tell you."

Hermione didn't dare to meet his gaze, and settled for starting at her fist on the table. She unclenched it slowly, and placed her palm flat against the wood.

"I don't want to know," Malfoy finally replied sharply. "Whatever assignment you're on, just keep it to yourself."

She blinked back the suffocating emotions. Was she too late? Had she potentially messed up everything she had worked for in a span of a half hour?

"A-Are you angry?" she muttered.

He crossed his arms and scowled. "Yes."

"I'm sorr—"

"Stop with your sodding apologies!" he spat. "It doesn't even matter."

"It does!" she argued. "Hell—I really care!"

"Well you shouldn't!" he retorted. "Now _leave._"

"Damn it all," she shut her eyes and stood from her chair, recognizing the final tone in his voice. She had lost. "I am really sorry," she breathed.

He didn't even cut her off this time. He wasn't looking at her.

Feeling dejected, she bit her lip hard and turned on her heel, walking away from the table. She stalked through the bookshelves mindlessly, too distracted to hear the crack of something break as was met with an angry fist, or the mutters of frustration that followed it.

* * *

A/N: I do feel a bit bad for leaving you guys with a slightly depressing ending, but cheer up! The next chapter will make up for it and it'll take off from there! I also apologize if I quashed anyone's hope of them explicitly working together to catch Rita Skeeter (I think they aren't ready for that kind of close team work yet huhu)

Tell me your thoughts on this chapter, the good, the bad, and thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! I certainly treasure them all.

On an entirely different note, for those who are residing in the U.S or find yourself in that country today, I wish you a very festive Independence Day! Have fun, be crazy, drink a bit, get laid and don't burn the house down.

El


	8. Change of Mind

Disclaimer: You get my drift.

* * *

Chapter 8: Change of Mind

.

Hermione spent the next two weeks biting the inside of her cheek and digging her nails into her palms until four small c-shaped marks decorated each hand. She mindlessly completed her homework, making sure to write exactly to the desired length. Her thoughts continuously drifted to Malfoy.

The moment his Charms class was over, he stalked over to the Slytherin dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle at his side without a word. Releasing a resigned sigh, she sat outside the hidden portrait, disillusioned and wondering how she was going to save herself from this one.

She didn't understand him. One week he's insulting her very existence, then the next week he asks for her to regard him like everyone else. Hermione buried her face in her hands and sank to her knees, letting her robes pile on the cold floor. Was he possible just playing with her? She shook her head, recalling those rare expressions that she didn't think he was capable of making. In fact, there were plenty of surprising moments where she was utterly proved wrong about his character.

She began mentally filing what she currently knew of Malfoy into 'goods' and 'bads'. Firstly, he was an evil git. Scratch that—there needed to be solid, she needed concrete facts and not opinions, no matter how much they seemed to be true.

He was a pureblood. He was rich. He was a Slytherin.

Hermione halted her mental filing and frowned. Where would she put those facts? She couldn't necessarily shove those qualities to the 'bad' section, they were things he was born with, and not something he chose.

A clog turned in her head, and she felt something switch on. Hermione dropped her hands. Was it possible that she had been seeing the irreversible qualities in him as the negative? She inwardly grumbled. Of course it was. All this time, she had it placed in her mind that he was a shallow person with the facial expression capacity of a statue. It's not that he didn't have 'good' parts of him, but the fact that she had refused to see it.

Her chest burned. She was no better than Pansy Parkinson, just hanging around Malfoy because of the irreversible qualities. She had been so set on trying to change him; she had missed the smaller, still genuine parts that made him not just another Malfoy, but Draco.

Taking a moment to fully understand her revelation, she then hissed at herself. The man was in Slytherin, he was subtle with his true feelings and thoughts. And she was sure growing up under the care of a man like Lucius Malfoy wasn't a complete skip through a meadow of flowers either.

Hermione smacked her forehead repeatedly and released a confused breath. This whole mission was overwhelming her in ways she didn't think possible. Deciding that she needed to talk to him again as soon as possible, she begrudgingly pulled herself from the dungeons and removed the charm. Her borrowed hours were up, and it was time to get back into real time.

Her spirits didn't get any better as she heard the news of Harry screaming and clutching his scar during Divination a week before the third task. She paced in the common room with Ron, waiting for him to come back. The second he slipped through the portrait door, she rammed him with questions until Ron clamped his hand over his face and demanded that she'd calm down.

Harry repeated his conversation with Professor Dumbledore. She was shocked to hear about the trails regarding previous death eaters, including Karkaroff and Bagman in the pensieve.

"And you're telling me Dumbledore still trusts Snape?" Ron asked sounding baffled. "I don't believe it."

"He does," Harry assured.

"And he says You-Know-Who is getting stronger again?" Ron's voice weakened.

"Yes," Hermione answered this time, surprising both boys. Dumbledore had told her there was danger approaching when he gave her the Malfoy mission. He must have known this day would come. "Now come on—no more questions, Harry has to practice, the third task is next week!"

Ron just grumbled to himself, and Harry followed her out of the common room with a sigh.

The morning of the third task, the Great Hall was buzzing with chatter and excitement. Hermione speared her toast with her knife, barely glancing up as the Daily Prophet owl swooped in. She handed the owl a chunk of her break, dropped a knut in its carrier and quickly grabbed the newspaper. She scanned through the paper with distaste. There wasn't anything much of interest after Hermione had stopped Skeeter, but it didn't stop other writers to publish far-fetched speculations and reports on what they thought Harry was up to.

Mrs. Weasley and Bill made a surprise visit to watch Harry in the third task. The elder woman gave her a cold greeting, and she pursed her lips. As much as Hermione loved the Wesley matriarch, if she actually read and believed Rita Skeeter's lies, there wasn't much motherly respect she had for her. A second later, Harry cleared up the issue, confirming that she was definitely not his girlfriend.

When night fell, there was a grand feast but she could tell Harry was more nervous than said. Dumbledore called the champions to the Quidditch pitch. She gave him a reassuring wave as he stood from his place and followed the other three champions out.

After all the food had been cleared, the Heads of each House came forward and led each table out of the Great Hall in a mannerly order. They climbed up the stairs of the stands, and sat in the cold metal seats. Everyone around her was already roaring with cheers and shouts of support.

The champions came forward, Harry and Cedric at the front. She waved at him as he spotted them and beamed. Bagman announced the current situation and with a loud bang, both of Hogwarts' champions darted into the opening of the maze.

Hermione clutched her hands together, and breathed. He would be all right. Harry will make it. A few minutes later, the whistle blew a second time, allowing Viktor to run in, and some time after that, Fleur dashed in the maze.

Twenty minutes into the task, an ear-shattering scream pierced the night. Hermione jumped, feeling her stomach twist into knots. That was definitely Fleur. Beauxbatons' students were muttering amongst themselves, a few sporting worried expressions. Ten minutes after, there was a round of more screaming. She clenched her hands—it was definitely male, and it sounded like the most agonizing sound she had heard. After a few moments, red sparks shot into the air and Hermione gasped. Everyone started chattering at once, trying to figure out which male champion had given up. She rocked back and forth in her seat, assuring herself that the scream didn't sound like Harry, but she wasn't feeling convinced.

From the side of the maze, she saw McGonagall emerge, levitating a body on a white cot. She took a sharp breath as she recognized Viktor's form lying utterly motionless. Her professor looked incredibly grim as she transferred him to the mediwitches on duty. Durmstrang exploded with roars and angry outburst, some clutching their faces while others stood up pointed at Viktor in defeat.

Her stomach lurched as she saw him being taken away. Honestly, she didn't expect him to be the first champion out. If she was right, the Bulgarian looked stunned. That meant either he had sent the sparks before being attacked by another champion, or someone else had shot the rescue signal after stunning him. She bit the inside of her cheek and scowled. She couldn't imagine any of the other champions attacking so shamelessly, but there wasn't any other reasonable explanation.

An hour had gone by and Hermione was nearly losing her mind. She wasn't the only one either. There were hushed murmurs throughout the crowd, and even the judges looked a bit worried. For some reason, Karkaroff had bolted from his seat a half-hour ago, and never returned. An unconscious Fleur had been retrieved sometime later, but Harry and Cedric were nowhere in sight.

Another hour went by until there was a loud crack in the air and she saw Harry fall flat against the ground with Cedric, the Triwizard Cup tossed to the side. She immediately stood and gasped. Cedric was still and Harry was at his side equally motionless. The crowd burst with noise, but it was far from cheers.

Dumbledore rushed forward with the Minister of Magic right behind him, proclaiming Cedric dead. Harry yelled about Voldemort retuning. Hermione seemed to have lost track of everything after that. She remembered girls screaming, Mrs. Weasley grabbing her arm and ushering her down the stands. Ron looked frantic. Harry was nowhere to be in sight.

Ignoring the rest of the crowd, she was pulled along with Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Bill to the school's Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey was inside but Harry was still nowhere to be seen.

When the hour hand stuck past midnight, the Infirmary door swung open to reveal Dumbledore, Harry, and Sirius in his animagus form. Immense relief rushed through her and she wanted nothing more than to jump to Harry like Mrs. Weasley did. Dumbledore spoke in a stern voice, making sure everyone understood not to question Harry until he was ready. Madam Pomfrey handed him a sleeping aid, causing him to knock out until the following day.

.

Hermione could have not asked for a worse welcoming arrival. She returned to the Hospital with Ron in the next afternoon, quietly conversing with Mrs. Weasely and Bill when the Minister of Magic burst into the room demanding for Dumbledore. She had her fair share of respect for the Minister of Magic, but after his abrupt arrival and abuse of power by bringing a bloody Dementor into the school, she didn't know if she could stand to be in the same room as him any longer. McGonagall had been absolutely furious, and she could tell Dumbledore was also discontent that the Minister had practically killed their witness.

"Crouch was a crazy murderer!" Fudge bellowed, unwilling to back down on his argument with the Headmaster. "He thought he was taking orders from You-Know-Who the entire time! The man was quite obviously touched in the head!"

"He _was _under the direct orders of Voldemort, Cornelius," Dumbledore said sternly. "As I have told you before, Severus, Minerva and I have all heard him confess his deeds under Veritaserum—including his escape from Azkaban. Lord Voldemort has returned."

Fudge looked as if Dumbledore had slapped him. "You-Know-Who has returned, you say? That's… impossible."

"I have heard both his account and Harry's side of the story as well," the headmaster answered. "He is back."

"Impossible," Fudge repeated. "You're going to take the word of a complete lunatic and a 14-year-old boy?"

"I know what I saw!" Harry suddenly inputted, startling everyone in the room but Dumbledore. "Voldemort is back and—"

"You don't know anything boy!" the Minister waved a hand, cringing at the name.

"I can tell you the death eaters that were there!" Harry raged. "Lucius Malfoy, Avery, Macnair, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle—"

"Cleared!" he cut Harry off again. "Those men have been perfectly cleared and are now working to better support the Ministry! You are simply naming those accused thirteen years ago—"

Hermione's throat seemed to collapse. She drowned out Fudge's voice after Harry had pinned Malfoy. She believed Harry's words, which only meant two things. Voldemort had indeed returned, and Lucius Malfoy set himself back into the madman's service. Dumbledore was right. She didn't have a lot of time at all to help Draco. In fact, her time was coming to a close. If his father went back, she had no doubt in her mind that the son would also bend to his will. She couldn't have that.

"—You must remove the dementors from Azkaban," Dumbledore demanded. "They will not follow the ministry any longer with Voldemort's return."

"_If_ he returned that is!" Fudge turned purple. "And I refuse to believe that is true based on the confessions of a lunatic and Potter—"

The minister jabbed a finger at Harry who was fuming and clutching his sheets.

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to grow cold. "If you continue to deny this fact, then it appears we will have to part ways. You may hold onto your position for as long as you try, but I will act as I see fit."

"Dumbledore you cannot possible mean such nonsense!" the man took a sharp breath. "For You-Know-Who to be back… No… it's complete nonsense."

It wasn't until Snape strode forward and tore back his sleeve did Hermione snap back into the conversation. She saw the Dark Mark tattooed on her professor's forearm, a black skull and snake coiling as if it was alive. For a fleeting second, she saw Draco in place of Snape, presenting his arm for everyone to see. His grey eyes flickered towards her, than disappeared, melting back into Snape's black orbs.

Fudge wouldn't have any of it. He shook his head, dropped off the money for Harry and scurried out of the Hospital Wing muttering about everyone going mad.

Hermione wished she could have listened to Dumbledore's words after that. But all she could see was Draco standing in front of her as if he was actually there, the Mark burned into his creamy skin. She choked.

"—Miss Granger?" Dumbledore's voice cut through her thoughts.

She refocused her eyes to see Sirius and Snape rushing out the room, both looking grim. Everyone else was crowding around Harry with similar expressions. She snapped her head towards her headmaster who was looking at her with an unreadable look.

He lowered his voice so only she could hear. "Six turns."

With that, the old wizard bid everyone else farewell and left the room with a swish of his robes. She could feel the color drain from her face, but kept her composure.

"Hermione?" Ron asked quietly, turning around. "What did Dumbledore want?"

She swallowed. "Just said to take care of Harry—I'm going out for a bit, be back soon."

Ron gave her a confused stare as she darted out of the Hospital Wing before he could question her.

The door slid closed with an echoing slam, and Hermione bolted from the hallway, eager to find a secluded area.

Six hours.

She had never traveled that far before. Considering she only had to travel three at the most when she went with Harry to save Sirius, going back twice the time was making her nervous. She knew everything regarding the Time Turner had to do with helping Draco, but finding him and trying to talk to him after their latest argument didn't seem like an easy task. Then again, nothing was easy when he was tossed into the equation.

After cutting another corner, she dug the Time Turner from her robes and breathed. She looped the hourglass six times and closed her eyes, clutching the necklace with her hand. When she snapped her eyes open, she checked her surroundings, concluding that she was in the large open area before the Great Hall.

With shaking hands, she pulled out her wand and cast the disillusionment charm on herself, making sure no one was around. She quickly calculated the time in her head. It was nine in the morning, which meant Harry was still sleeping, and she and Ron were in the Gryffindor tower quietly talking.

But what was Draco doing? She was sure Dumbledore had sent her back this far for a reason. How would she find him anyway? Deciding to start walking around instead of standing there, Hermione began darting through the empty hallways.

After about twenty minutes of stealthily running around, she began to lose hope. Where would he be? She doubted Dumbledore would sent her back if he knew Draco kept himself inside the Slytherin dungeons all day.

As if the heavens heard her pleas, a familiar mop of blonde hair turned the corner of the hallway she was in. For a moment, all she could see was his figure standing in front of her in the Hospital Wing with the Dark Mark on his forearm. She shook her head and expelled the image from her mind.

Draco's face looked more stoic than usual. His eyes were set in a determined slant, his lips pulled into a thin line and a definite purpose in his walk. She pressed herself against the wall and clamped her mouth, wondering how she was going to approach him. The moment he walked past her, he suddenly stopped and turned his head. His dark expression broke slightly as his eyebrows furrowed as he looked in her direction almost questioningly.

Hermione didn't breathe. Was her charm slipping? No, that was impossible. She had perfected the spell after using it so much. And she was sure she hadn't made a single sound.

The blonde sighed quietly and ran his hand through his hair, turning from her. He continued to walk, settling his face back into a frown. She followed after him, keeping a safe distance away in case he decided to turn around again.

Draco lengthened his strides, leaving through the Clock Tower and began walking towards the large wooden bridge. Something inside her told her to stop him. The Stone Circle was at the end of the long bridge, but gut instinct told her that she should not let him get there.

She tapped her wand and released the charm. Hermione had no idea what she was going to say, but she had to try something. She darted after him, making sure no one else was in sight and called out to him.

"Malfoy!" she softy yelled.

He stopped cold in his tracks and spun his head around with a snap. His eyes widened with surprise as if he couldn't believe she was actually there, then settled into a scowl.

"Granger? What are you—"

"I need to tell you something!" she said breathlessly, finally catching up to him.

He narrowed his eyes. "Not now, my father is waiting for me."

Her brain clicked. This was it. Dumbledore must have somehow known about their meeting and sent her before they could talk. Harry saw Lucius Malfoy at the Death Eater gathering. He must have come to inform Draco about it, and no doubt kill everything she had ever built with him the past year.

She stared at him resolutely. "He's back. V-Voldemort's back"

Draco's grey eyes snapped to hers, bewilderment clear in his gaze. She held back an instinctive cringe. She had never said his name before, only Harry and Dumbledore dared to do it. But there was no space for fear now. She felt braver.

"Wha—"

"I'm so sorry about before," she spluttered, feeling a rush of emotions. "I was wrong. Honestly, you have every right to be mad at me. But I know now, you're not that like that, Malfoy. I just couldn't see it before, but you have to understand, I do trust you, which I why I'm saying this—But—I just—"

"Granger, shut up," he demanded, but the stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease, even just slightly. "Stop blabbering and get your head on straight."

"I'm sorry—"

"And stop apologizing!" he yelled a bit more forcefully. "Merlin, is that all you can say?"

Hermione clamped her mouth shut and blew up her cheeks. She took a huge breath and unclenched her fingers.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked quietly.

He didn't answer, but he didn't walk away either.

"Then… do you hate me?" she bit her lip at his silence, and took another breath. "Because I don't hate you. I might have once—or maybe I thought I did—but I don't hate you."

She watched his face intently. His grey eyes regarded her carefully, but there was no clear malice in his gaze.

"What do you want, Granger?" he finally asked, shifting his weight to his right leg.

She released her lip. "Nothing. It's always been, and always will be nothing. Not everything has to be an exchange. I just…"

What would she say? I want to see you make better choices in life? That he was about to walk down a road he would regret? She inwardly snorted.

"Just what?" he leaned forward.

"Look, I… I know we're not the best of friends, but I still care," she explained. "And it's not care out of pity—I just want to understand you. I feel like… we're not so different, regardless of blood status or House."

He took a sharp breath. "We're as different as night and day, Granger, there's no changing that no matter how much you want to understand."

"I'm not asking for change," she sighed. _Trust me, I've already tried that. _"All I'm asking for is a chance for you to look beyond irreversible qualities. You'll always be a pureblood and I will always be a muggle-born, nothing can change that, but with V-Voldemort's return—and yes, I do believe he's back—I want to understand why you'll be out for my blood if you… choose that path…"

Draco looked hesitant. She could see his eyes flicker with confusion. He released a quiet exhale and turned around.

"I don't have time. My father is waiting."

Hermione's throat tightened. She dashed after him into the covered bridge, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

"Malfoy, give it some thought, please," she urged, nearly jogging next to him. "Or at least keep it in mind as you talk to your father."

He growled. "You act like you know what my father will say to me."

_I bet I have a better understanding than you think. _She sighed. "Maybe. I have a good guess, but will you consider—"

"There's nothing to consider," he retorted. They were crossing the halfway point of the bridge now.

"There is!" she argued and jumped in front of him, arms out to the side. He stopped abruptly, glaring at her.

"Move," he demanded.

"No," she answered, unwavering in her decision. Her chest burned with resolution as she met his storming eyes squarely. "Look, you're going to have to cut me down and knock me out if you want me to move. I won't fight back. And if you do… I'll drop this… I won't ask you to consider anything anymore."

His eyes widened. She was betting everything. If he could find the will to attack her when she was unarmed and unwilling to fight back, then everything she believed about him would have been proved wrong. Hermione wanted to trust that he wouldn't do it. She glanced at him, silently pleading with her eyes.

Draco's mouth curved into a frustrated snarl. "I see what you're doing here, Granger. You think I won't attack you? I'm not a bloody saint—"

He pulled out his wand from his robes and pointed it at her chest. Hermione's heart constricted, but she didn't say a word. This was it. He could attack her at any moment. A small part of her still believed he wouldn't.

For what seemed like an eternity, they just stared at each other. Hermione's arms were shaking, screaming for her to set them down, but she held. She wasn't going to give in. Draco still had his arm up as well, his wand unmoving but still pointed at her.

He was giving her that _look _again, but this time, he seemed to be struggling immensely.

Something gave.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes conjured and wrapped themselves around her, yanking her arms back to her side. Hermione didn't even struggle as she fell to the side and toppled onto the wooden floor. He had attacked her. She was wrong.

Draco dashed around her and sprinted across the rest of the bridge, his footsteps sending tremors across the wood and onto her face. When she could no longer hear or feel the weight of his steps on the bridge, Hermione let out a strangled breath.

For a while, she simply lied in the same position not sure how to proceed. She didn't even have the mental strength to counter the spell. Her mind swirled painfully as she tried to think of every conversation they had through the course of the year—now in shambles. But had she truly given up on him? The logical side of her screamed affirmative, but the rest of her denied it.

After her shoulder began to throb from her uncomfortable position, she shifted her weight and fell flat on her back with a loud thump. To her shock, the ropes seemed to follow her movement. She craned her neck to see the offending material around her and finally noticed how loose it was. If she wanted to, she was sure she could move her arm to retrieve her wand and reverse the spell.

Why had he done that? She highly doubted his spell work was diminishing. Was he trying to tell her to undo the spell and leave him? In all honesty, the ropes were unexpected; she had predicted a terrible curse of some sort, or at least a stunner. She rammed her head with possible theories and speculations, replaying their conversation in her head, not even bothering to undo the ropes.

Yes, she had cornered him but she had also given him the perfect chance to hex her and stop her advancements for good. Hermione insisted that he cut her down and knock her out as his answer, but he had bound her instead, and quite loosely at that. She clamped her eyes shut in thought. Draco was a Slytherin; he was subtle with his feelings. Something… it had to mean something. She was sure if he didn't want to give her idea any consideration at all, he would have cursed her on the spot without the eternity of hesitation.

She wanted to believe it. Draco was giving it a chance. He certainly had a nasty way of agreeing with her, but it was far better than being stunned and left on the bridge. Her mind drifted back to the ropes. Was he testing her as well? Had he intentionally left the bindings loose so she could counter the spell and storm off? He was asking her to choose again. She could either give up on him as she insisted she'd do if he attacked her, or stay where she was.

Hermione grumbled as her head throbbed painfully. This was simply too much. She was glad the entire school was mourning over the events of last night's task, no one had bothered to leave the castle to find her lying on the floor of the covered bridge, bound in ropes.

So she decided to stay.

For the next hour or so, Hermione stayed flat on her back thinking of what she would say to Draco and cursing his idiocy at the same time. As she was in the middle of cursing his sodding perfect hair, she felt someone's footsteps vibrate through the wood and hit the back of her head.

Stopping herself, she caught her breath and concentrated on the tremors. After a few moments, the vibrations increased, becoming increasingly stronger and faster. What in Merlin's name—was he running a marathon? The next second, Draco's face appeared above hers, still upside down as she was staring at him from the floor. His breathing was slightly labored, eyebrows twisted in shock, and his eyes wide.

"About time!" Hermione yelled first. "Honestly what was there to talk about for so long?"

Draco blinked three times before settling his face in a look of disbelief. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"Because I happen to like lying on hard wooden floors," she replied sarcastically. "I was waiting for you, Malfoy, you dolt!"

"Wha—"

"Don't think I've given up," she stared into his eyes. "You didn't give me a proper answer anyway."

Draco pulled his wand out from his robes, and for a brief second, she thought he was going to hex her for good.

"Relashio."

The ropes disappeared with a wave of his wand and scowled down at her as he tucked his wand away.

"There's my bloody answer. Happy?"

She felt her lips break into a smile and her shoulders seemed ten times lighter.

"Very. Thank you," she beamed.

She bolted from her position and sat up, brushing off all the dust and dirt in her hair. With a flick of her wand, she used the scouring charm to vanish the rest of the mess from her robes.

Draco was watching her every move with sharp eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me about my father?"

She turned to him. "I don't see the need. Besides, I wasn't lying when I said I already had a good guess of what he wanted to tell you."

His expression darkened. "I see. So the Dark Lord has returned, and Potter really escaped from him last night."

She nodded. She knew Fudge also refused to accept that Voldemort had returned, which would make matters worse, but she couldn't tell him that. It technically hasn't even happened yet.

"And you're going to try and fight him, I suppose?" Draco scoffed lightly.

She bit the inside of her lip. "I don't have a choice. I'm muggle-born, he'll come for me either way since I'm pretty much everything he and his followers hate."

The corner of his lips pulled down. "Of course, you Gryffindors and your hero complex…"

She ignored that comment. "What about you?"

He crossed his arms, pausing. "I don't know."

Hermione quieted after that. At least he didn't follow after his father immediately. But where would she take this from here? In all honesty, she never thought she could get him to give her a chance. They walked out of the bridge in silence, and slipped back into the Clock Tower. The halls were empty other than two first year girls who practically ran away when Draco sneered at them.

She glanced at her watch, reading a quarter past twelve. She still had a little over two hours before her borrowed time was up.

"Where are you going?" Draco's voice cut through, as she turned right.

She glanced back. "Astronomy Tower. I need to do some thinking."

_And I have two hours to kill. Can't be seen. _

He pursed his lips and slightly raised a brow. He stood still as if he was contemplating something.

"You're welcome to come with," she suggested quietly.

He paused. "Don't be ridiculous. I need to do my own thinking as well."

Hermione tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. Was she actually expecting him to follow her? She settled for a shrug.

"All right," she breathed. "I'll see you around then."

Without saying goodbye, he turned on his heel and continued to walk down the hall and out of sight.

She didn't move until the sound of his footsteps faded away. Slumping down at the bottom of the spiral staircase, she sighed. She had done her best.

As she sat, the image of Draco standing before her with the Mark on his arm appeared again. She stared into his empty grey eyes that were so unlike the constant clashing of emotions she saw earlier. She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. Hermione didn't know where the feeling came from, but it was overpowering everything else, making her hands itch. She couldn't let that happen to him. She just couldn't.

* * *

A/N: Firstly, can I just say... wow! I am seriously overjoyed by the response I got last week, I cannot thank you guys enough for all the love! I reached 100 followers the other day *dancing around* so it feels a bit unreal. Y'all are making me so happy inside.

Moving on to the chapter. Fourth year is almost over for them, I'd say maybe another chapter or two, a summer break chapter, then we're moving onto fifth year. Whew, three more years to go! I hope it was—as usual—believable. Let me know your thoughts!

On a completely different note, I started a teaching job at a local college, and holy mother, I am exhausted. Although I'm terribly busy, I'm not going to put this on a break—I'll keep writing, but the update times might get a little erratic. I will do my best though! And again, thank you all. You're the best.

El


	9. Muggles and Books

Disclaimer: Alas, I am still penniless from this.

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Chapter 9: Muggles and Books

.

The rest of June slipped by quickly. Dumbledore had announced at dinner the unfortunate death of Cedric Diggory, along with the request that no one bother Harry about the events that took place in the third task. Everyone seemed to comply.

They no longer had a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, so Thursday afternoons became free periods. The real had Moody returned, but with only a few days left in the term and his constant stiffness, Dumbledore excused him from teaching.

Hermione stood in an empty seventh floor corridor, Time Turner in hand. This would be the last Wednesday of the term, thus the last time she would be able to speak to Draco until the start of their fifth year. She turned the hourglass twice, letting the hours slip backwards as usual, and found herself in front of History of Magic. Casting the disillusionment charm on herself, she walked over to Draco's Charms class, wondering where he would head today. It would be his last free period so she wouldn't have been surprised if he spent it in the Slytherin dungeons. There would be no need to go to the library after all.

After ten minutes of waiting, the door clanked open to reveal the fourth year Slytherin and Ravenclaw students bustling out of their last charms class. She smirked at a few blank faces, guessing that they had been utterly trampled by the final.

Draco exited the class with Crabbe and Goyle at his side as usual. To her complete surprise, he dismissed the two, including Pansy Parkinson's feeble attempts to get him to go back to the dungeons. Hermione's heart raced. He didn't separate with his gang unless he was going to the Quidditch pitch to fly, or he was headed to the library. The pitch was still covered in twenty-foot hedges from the third task, which could only mean he was headed to the library.

He began to walk right past her, but just like the day before, he abruptly stopped and turned his head in her direction. Hermione held her breath and leaned against the wall, wondering how the hell he was doing that. Was it some sort of coincidence? Did he have a keen sixth sense that could detect a person's presence? She was sure her charm wasn't slipping, so it had to be some other sense he relied on.

The blonde Slytherin sighed through his nose and snapped his head back, resuming his walk. She released a tight breath and followed after him. Sure enough, he slipped through the library doors and went straight back into his usual seat by the large window.

Hermione released the charm and stored her wand away. Now what? Normally she had some sort of plan, but she honestly had expected to sit outside the hidden portrait to the dungeons today. She walked through the high stacks of shelves and pondered. The only thing she was confident at was studying and reading books. She grumbled; being studious wasn't going to help her now.

A sudden idea popped in her head as she passed by the muggle study section. Holding her breath she ran her fingers through the spines of each book, glancing at the ones she already saw Draco take during Christmas break. She grabbed a thick text entitled Muggle World Wars. She cracked the cover open and began skimming through its contents. Much to her admiration, the content was accurate and unbiased. She glanced at the unfamiliar author name and deduced that it could have been a muggle-born, or even a squib.

Feeling eager, she turned and crashed into someone's chest with a surprised 'oomph'. She caught the book before it fell, and her other hand flew to her sore nose massaging it with grumbles.

"Granger, you don't have eyes for decoration, you know."

She shot her head up at his voice, coming face to face with Draco. He was looking at her with a mildly curious expression, a single eyebrow arched.

"Hello to you too, Malfoy," she greeted, still rubbing her nose. "Say, it's a good thing you're here—this is for you."

She extended the book towards him, which he looked down at with suspicion.

"What is it?" he asked, still not taking the book from her.

"It's a step to understanding," she said rhetorically. "I think it'll be a good approach to muggles."

He slowly took the text from her hand. "You want me to read about muggle violence? I already know what barbaric—"

"Not the violence!" she corrected. "I'm talking about the means. Just because they don't have magic doesn't mean they aren't capable of destruction and war. In fact, I'd place my bet on a muggle victory if we ever went on a full blown war with them."

That was a lie, but Hermione gave him a smug smile to cover it up.

"Is that so?" he growled lowly. "If I'm going to read this, then you're going to read a book of my choice as well."

"Fine by me," she declared.

Following his sudden turn, she walked after him as he swerved through the shelves, his eyes lingering on the signs that guided lost students around. After a few turns, Draco stopped at one of the older looking shelves and pulled out a thick book that was clearly bigger than her head. He handed the text to her, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Hermione grabbed the book with both hands, rolling her eyes at the title: The Greatest Wizards of the Era 9th Edition.

"All right, I'll read this," she confirmed.

She stuffed the book under her arm and retraced her steps back to his empty table. He didn't say a word as she sat down on the free chair, and plopped the book open on her lap.

Hermione glazed through the table of contents, pursing her lips when she realized she had over five hundred pages to go through. Inwardly groaning, she decided she might as well give it a shot if he was in the same position as her.

After an hour of reading through multiple wizards of each century, she was surprised to find information she clearly hadn't known beforehand. Many of them were inventors of spells, potions masters and even alchemists. There was a lengthy explanation on the theory of magic she was finding absolute fascination in, when Draco's voice broke through the silence.

"What is this rubbish, Granger?" he scowled. She reluctantly tore herself away from the text and raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"From the years 1933 to 1945 an approximation of 11 million people around Europe was killed in what is deemed to date as The Holocaust," he read quickly. "There must be some inaccuracy here; one man can't simply commit all those murders in his lifetime without magic."

She frowned. "It's accurate, Malfoy. And it wasn't just one man. He had coaxed millions into following him. There were thousands of concentration camps set up that killed a mass number of people at once through poisonous gas, shooting and the like. Muggle technology and scientific discovery were blooming back in those times."

"How the hell would he convince all those people into murder? Unless muggles are really barbaric creatures without sense—"

Her eye twitched. "No, their leader started out as an influential speaker. He was highly manipulative and had incredible persuasion skills. He deemed those of Jewish descent to be inferior and decided to wipe them all off the face of the planet." She paused, letting the information sink in. "Sounds familiar doesn't it?"

Draco snorted. "See here, Granger. You can't go comparing us to mad muggles like him."

"Why not? And I'm talking about ideology here, not whether they have magical blood or not," she retorted. "What is blood supremacy to you then? What makes You-Know-Who's cause different from Adolf Hitler's?"

He grimaced. "It's called facts. It's always been that way. Purebloods have been around since the beginning until muggles started to invade our society and hunt for us—it's only logical that we get to hate them back. This muggle lunatic on the other hand is just killing his own kind out of a sudden whim! His reasons are next to pathetic."

"Then look at just the bare minimum," she raised a hand. "Do you think it's okay for a group of people to cause harm to others because they're different?"

"Granger, this is what you don't get," he shook his head. "This isn't all about difference or inferiority. It's the fact that muggles are a threat to our society and it's about time something was done about it."

"And their demise is the answer?" she inquired.

"Don't they want the same for us? It's no fairytale that we were hunted by muggles back in the day."

"But it's not like we couldn't protect ourselves if we wanted to," she pressed. "Remember Wendelin the Weird allowed herself to be caught forty-seven times under different disguises to be burned at stake? Not to mention they would have contents seeing who could scream the loudest, trying to fool the muggles after casting the flame-freezing charm."

"That's their loss then," he sharply replied. "It doesn't change the fact that they wanted us dead."

Hermione pursed her lips. As much as she wanted to dive into a full on debate, this wasn't the time or the place. She bit back her retorts and leaned back into her chair. She had unknowingly sat straighter and leaned across the table as if she was ready to engage.

"I see," she finally breathed.

She needed to stop doing that—thinking she was absolutely correct and knowledgeable about everything. Hermione treasured her ability to think above anything else, but she also knew it was her fatal flaw. In order for her and Draco to come to a decent understanding, she needed space to admit that she was wrong about some things.

He huffed quietly and went back to his book when it was clear that she was reading again as well. She expected some kind of snarky taunt from him, but he remained silent.

Twenty minutes after another round of silent reading, Draco broke the silence again.

"Granger, how do atomic bombs work?" he asked, keeping his eyes on lowered.

She glanced up from her page, feeling proud that she was nearly halfway through the book already. She racked her brain for the information she had read two years ago in a muggle textbook.

"There's a branch of muggle developed physical science called Chemistry—it's technically a division of Alchemy," she began. "Basically, it's the study of matter by atoms, which is the basic unit in a chemical element. Muggle scientists can take those properties and create a split in the atomic nuclei, which is at the center of an atom, and force massive amounts of energy to explode in a given area. They're real weapons of mass destruction."

"And they were used in war," he finished quietly.

She titled her head. "Are you reading on World War II?"

He nodded. "So you're telling me, muggles have made these massive bombs that can be dropped and wipe out thousands of people in a single setting."

"That's correct," she said. "Like I said, muggles may not have magic, but their advancements in technology don't make them inferior to us. It just means they're perfecting the skill sets they were given, just like we are."

Draco's face settled in an unreadable expression. He looked skeptical, but at the same time, shocked, she just couldn't tell.

It took Hermione two more hours to completely finish reading her book from cover to cover. It appeared that Draco had finished his text an hour earlier, but he had stayed quiet in his chair, it had taken her three glances before she realized he was done. She shut the book with a quiet snap and eyed her watch, gasping and standing from her seat.

She had been with him for nearly four hours!

Draco looked startled, but simply raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Hermione was still staring at her wristwatch as if it was lying to her. After letting the fact register in her mind, she turned back to the blonde.

"I was supposed to meet Harry and Ron for dinner," she explained. "But it looks like I'm two hours over."

"They can get over it."

It then dawned on her that he had not left either. She narrowed her eyes. "Why didn't you leave? Aren't you hungry?"

"Hardly," he replied.

She continued to frown at him. He was definitely lying; the man just didn't want to admit it. She felt a stab of guilt hit her heart even though it wasn't entirely her fault.

"Well I'm starving," she announced. "Let's go eat."

"Granger, dinner's over—"

Not waiting for his approval, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him out of his seat. With a wave of her wand, the two books went flying to their rightful place.

"I never said to the Great Hall," she said excitedly, still dragging him along. "We're going to the kitchen."

"Kitchen?" he repeated in disbelief.

"What? Never been in one before?" she fired jokingly.

There was a dark shadow over his face and he didn't reply. Hermione immediately felt stupid. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. In normal circumstances, never walking into a kitchen was a ludicrous idea, but Draco was a tad bit special. Scratch that—he was probably so pampered and spoiled as child that never coming across the kitchen was normal.

She inwardly slapped herself but continued to tow him across the hall, cutting corners and flying down stairwells until they arrived on the floor right under the Great Hall. Releasing Draco's wrist with a quick 'sorry', she reached up to the large painting on the wall and ticked the pear. The green fruit giggled and transformed into a doorknob for her to take. She pulled the painting door open and waved at him to follow her.

A few seconds after she had walked in, elves began to crowd around her, their large eyes and ears looking at her in anticipation.

"Hello, Miss," one squeaked. "What can we do for Miss?"

She crouched down and smiled. "Sorry for the bother, Malfoy and I missed dinner."

"Miss is no bother!" the elf assured. "What would Miss like?"

She pursed her lips in thought. "Just whatever you had for tonight's dinner, please."

Several elves nodded in understanding and began to scurry around the large hall in haste. She turned to Draco who was still standing near the hidden door, looking around with slightly wide eyes.

The room was almost an exact replica of the Great Hall, with four long House tables across the floor. Dozens of pots and pans hung in the air, a few flying around and following the elves magic with admirable speed. She titled her head at Draco who finally seemed to notice her again and followed her to the table that would have been connected to Ravenclaw's.

Oddly, her heart began to race against her chest. She tried to convince herself that eating dinner was with her old arch nemesis was a straining situation to be in anyway.

"How did you find this place, Granger?" he asked.

She smirked. "The twins. Barely got them into telling me."

Before he could reply, the table in front of them filled with food as if they were eating in the Great Hall. Except this time, she was eating with Draco. Loads of chicken, potatoes, biscuits, fruits, pumpkin juice and other food continued to appear on the table. Hermione wanted to tell them to stop with all the food because she couldn't even properly pay them, but the aroma was weakening her will. Draco didn't look any less eager either.

Picking up her fork, she reached towards the fruits first, popping juicy melons into her mouth with a content moan. It had been over eight hours since she had lunch, she honestly wouldn't care if she were eating with a troll; the food was glorious.

She risked a glance at Draco and watched him eat for a few moments. He had the most impeccable table manners she had ever seen. The knife stayed in his right hand, the fork in his left, cutting one piece of chicken at a time and never letting his elbows plop on the table. He didn't stuff food into his mouth as he ate, but chewed silently and never spoke.

He caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow. He swallowed his bite and took a sip of his goblet before speaking.

"What?"

She cleared her throat. "Sorry—nothing. It's just very odd for me to see a guy eat without spluttering flecks of food on my face."

His nose scrunched. "That's absolutely disgusting. I don't know why you'd ever think I'd eat like an uncivilized cow that is Weasley and Potter."

"Just Ron," she corrected quietly. "Harry has decent table manners in the least."

"Well there's a surprise," he replied sarcastically.

The two continued to finish eating in silence until desert appeared on the table, taking place of the previous course. Again, she wanted to stop the elves from this massive spoiling but the temptation was too much. She grabbed a éclair and gently tore it in half, taking small bites of her well-loved sweet.

After thanking the house-elves and scowling at Draco when he simply waved at them and walked off, the two slipped out of the hidden door and slowly crept towards the stairs. It was a half hour past curfew, and she was definitely not in the mood to receive any kind of detention in the last week.

Impulsively, she reached out to him again. "Wait, Malfoy."

He turned at her touch, but to her surprise, he didn't yank his shoulder away. "What now?"

She pulled her hand back and bit her lip. "Well… what does your summer look like?"

"Honestly," he replied, "I couldn't say."

"Will you be reachable by owl?" she spluttered, meeting his gaze.

Confusion flashed through his eyes. "Yes. Although if you think we're suddenly going to be goody pen pals—"

"No, no!" she waved her hands, although the thought was rather comical. "I—uhm—can I send you some books?"

His eyebrow lifted. "More books? Does that mean I get to force books upon you as well?"

She smiled. "If you want. I actually enjoyed the book you handed to me. Honestly, it was incredibly interesting and informative. I had no idea about—"

"Stop right there, Granger," he frowned, shaking his head.

"Er—right, sorry," she muttered. When did she start to get this flustered in his presence? Clearing her throat, she blinked twice and met his gaze again. "For today though, thank you."

He gave her quizzical look. "Stop being so chummy, you're making me regret my decision."

"Oh fine!" she whisper-yelled, too tired to argue. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

She walked around him and headed towards the opposite side of the stairwell that led to the Gryffindor Tower.

" 'Night, Granger."

Hermione whirled around on the spot in shock, trying to catch his expression. Draco had already turned, his retreating form growing smaller as he descended the stairs to the dungeons. The muscles in her body tensed, and her eyes widened.

For a second, she stood rooted in place, which probably wasn't the smartest idea considering she was out of curfew. A smile took her lips before she could stop it, and her heart fluttered in delight. She cast the disillusionment charm on herself and continued her walk towards the tower, nearly skipping through the hallways. Her cheeks were hurting by the time she reached the Fat Lady, but Hermione simply didn't care.

.

The following day, she scurried up the stairs to the Headmaster's office, the Time Turner bouncing under her robes with movement. She had thought it was time to give Dumbledore a true report on her mission for the year now that her last meeting with Draco had passed.

Her excitement died when she realized she didn't have the password. Professor McGonagall had told her the magic words last time, but she had no idea if it had been changed. Trying her luck, she cleared her throat.

"Pixie Puffs?"

The statue remained where it was—of course. Dumbledore wasn't stupid, she was sure the password changed constantly.

Going through the list of sweets in her mind, she began spouting them one by one. "Licorice Wand? Chocolate Frog! Sugar Quill—Sherbet Lemons—Fizzing Whizbee—Acid Pops—Canary Cream—Oh come on! Crystallized Pineapple—Pumpkin Fizz—Cockroach Clusters—"

The stone statue leapt aside, allowing Hermione entrance.

"Oh," she said dumbly, startled that it had actually worked.

Smiling, she climbed up the staircase and walked in front of the two large doors that would lead to the Headmaster's office. She knocked on the right door, it opened on its own like last time, and she hesitantly stepped in.

Professor Dumbledore was at his desk, which was covered with sheets of never ending parchment. She spotted the official ministry stamps on them, and concluded that they were most likely material regarding the Triwizard Tournament. For a moment, she saw him appear quite old and exhausted, but the familiar warm twinkle in his eye soon returned.

"Hello Professor," she greeted. "I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time…"

"Not at all, Miss Granger," he smiled and waved his hand, the parchments disappeared the next second. "Please sit. Care for a sherbet lemon?"

"Actually, yes," she sat down on the red chair and plucked a sweet from his open hand. "Thank you."

"Now," he opened a candy for himself. "What can I help you with?"

She popped the yellow candy in her mouth and smiled. "I wanted to tell you in detail about my progress with Malfoy."

"Ah—yes, I'm assuming something good happened?"

Multiple moments flashed through her mind, but she held them back and merely nodded. "Well, the first time didn't go so well…"

Hermione began explain all her encounters with Draco, the good, the bad and the ugly. She was ashamed of herself as she admitted the fact she had pulled her wand on him near the beginning. She informed him on how he helped her catch Rita Skeeter and unknowingly gave her the clue to help Harry in the second task, even having decent conversations with her from time to time. She concluded with the latest report of their small fight at the wooden bridge, and the meeting where they traded books and sat in the library, missing dinner.

Dumbledore's eyes were sparkling as he listened to her talk; his half-moon spectacles were sitting lower on his crooked nose.

"This is excellent news, Miss Granger. I am very proud of you," he said. "The level of maturity and logical thinking that you exhibit is a difficult trait to come by."

"Thank you, Professor," she blushed slightly. "I did mess up many times, though. Dealing with Malfoy isn't very easy."

His face grew dark. "I'm afraid it won't be getting any easier. With Lord Voldemort's return, Mr. Malfoy will feel the pressure from his father, there is no doubt in this. You must be the rock in this storm. He will be relying on you much more than ever before."

She felt her mouth go dry, but nodded resolutely. "I will. I won't let him fall."

"Two things, Miss Granger. The first—" he raised a finger and pointed to the Time Turner under her robes. "I know you may feel the need to reverse events with the magical clock, especially now that things are looking quite grim, but I need you to promise me that you won't use the Time Turner for anything else, other than helping Mr. Malfoy. We cannot afford a possible slip up in time, anything can happen when you try to change major events, and the outcome could be much, much worse."

Hermione rolled her tongue between her teeth. It definitely sounded like a warning. Something bad will happen, but she couldn't use the Time Turner to reverse it. Seeing no other choice, she simply nodded.

"Secondly," he continued, "there is something I want to give you, before you leave for the summer."

Hermione stopped her brooding and titled her head in curiosity. What did he have to give her?

The old headmaster walked over to one of the cabinets near the back of his office. He waved his wand and there were a series of soft clicks that indicated multiple invisible locks being undone. The door swung out towards him and Hermione fought every muscle in her body not to stand up and try to peak at what was inside. Reaching in, Dumbledore pulled out an old looking book; its cover and spine faded with age. She could see that there had been a title on it, but it was no longer visible anymore. He trotted over after locking the cabinet and set the book down on his desk.

"I was planning on giving you this book much later, but I feel that you are ready for it," he explained. Hermione bit her tongue, trying to stay quiet. "I want you to read this, and once you're done, hand it to Mr. Malfoy. Of course, only when he's willing to know of its contents."

"What exactly is the book on, Professor?" she inquired, glancing at the withered cover again.

"You will find the material most intriguing," he replied. "However, you must keep in mind that the information you read here must be kept to yourself—that is, until Mr. Malfoy receives it. This book is the first and last copy; it is charmed so that the pages cannot be torn, burned, written on, or harmed in any way. You will understand the reason behind all this as you read it."

He picked up the book and handed it to her. Hermione took it with both hands, cradling it like it was about to break any moment. She released a large breath and nodding in understanding.

"Then I suppose you don't recommend me sending this through owl postage, right?"

"That would indeed, be highly discouraged," Dumbledore agreed. "If the book was possibly intercepted and fell into the wrong hands… the information would be lost forever."

Her eyebrows shot up. Just what was this book on… some kind of secret Dark Arts?

"All right," she lowered her voice. "I'll be careful with it."

Feeling the end of their conversation draw near, she stood from her chair and bid the headmaster farewell.

"Good luck, Miss Granger." He simply replied. "And do stay in contact."

.

When the Hogwarts Express came to a stop at King's Cross Station, Hermione heaved her trunk out of her compartment and followed Ron and Harry to the platform. Releasing a soft sigh, she hugged Harry goodbye knowing that he was probably in for a rough summer again.

After leaving the magical barrier, she spotted her parents waving to her and she ran to them like an overjoyed child.

"Hermione!" her mum exclaimed, hugging her tightly. "Oh, we've missed you!"

"Athena, Honey, you're going to crush the poor girl," she heard her dad sigh.

"It's been nearly a year, Steven!" Athena argued, letting her go. "Remember she didn't even come home for Christmas break?"

Hermione released a light laugh as she hugged her father too, and every thought of worry or anxiety seemed to fly out of her.

Her mum practically towed Hermione to their car while her dad carried the luggage. Athena talked on and on the entire ride home, but Hermione was more than happy to listen to her mum's voice after all that time.

"—And the ball! Steven, remember the crazy tournament her school had—what was the lad's name, again?"

"Mum, he's not some small schoolboy," Hermione shook her head. "His name is Viktor, remember? He plays the same position Harry does in Quidditch."

"So he plays professionally?" Steven intervened, peaking through the rearview mirror. "Doesn't that make him a little too old for you?"

Hermione felt a blush creep across her cheeks. She hadn't told anyone but Ginny, but Viktor had given her a real kiss just before they left Hogwarts. She agreed to keep in contact with him, and now she didn't really know how she felt about him anymore.

"He's still a student," she defended. "And there's nothing really between us—he's a good friend."

Athena simply raised an eyebrow while her dad didn't give his reply. Inwardly groaning, Hermione turned to look out the window, waiting for her mum to pick a new topic of conversation.

After two days of unpacking her trunk and settling back into her old room, she flooed to Diagon Alley on her own and visited the Eeylops Owl Emporium. She had considered sending Crooks on her book-trading escapade with Draco, but she tossed the thought aside knowing the magical cat wasn't quite built for simply delivering messages. Besides, both Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley had told her to keep in contact, so buying an owl for herself wasn't a completely bad idea. She couldn't keep borrowing Pig or Hedwig forever.

Set on her decision, she stepped into the lowly lit store and glanced around the small circular room with dozens of owls hanging from the ceiling. Some were asleep, while others were staring at her with quiet hoots.

"Hello, welcome," a male employee smiled at her. "Can I help you?"

She turned to him. "Yes, I'm looking for an owl, preferably a large one that can carry heavier items."

He gestured to a section of owls. "We have the traditional Barn Owls, great for carrying any kind of weight. Or—" he pointed to another section, "—the Screech Owls, also good. They are the main owls for the Daily Prophet, quite intelligent birds, if I can say."

Hermione walked around the shop, following the employee. She glanced into a particularly dark room and stopped. Inside was an owl with the brightest amber eyes she had ever seen, staring at her with mild interest. It hooted softly at her cocked it head.

"What about this one?" she pointed to the owl, unable to make out its exact color in the dim room.

"Aye," the man sighed. "That is the Great Horned Owl. It was sent here from the American Ministry. Our biggest in the store, however, it refuses to be caged up and doesn't like anyone. I'm afraid he will be a permanent resident here."

Hardly listening to the man, she walked closer and greeted the owl. It hooted back and clicked its beak multiple times. With a mighty clap of its wings, it launched itself off the wooden bar and gently perched itself on Hermione's shoulder. The employee's jaw dropped.

"I think this is the one," she affirmed, finally catching a glimpse of the bird's true colors. Its feathers were a light grey, with flecks of blue on its wings. It reminded her of Draco's eyes, but she dismissed the thought the next second.

The man seemed rather eager to get rid of the bird, and sold it to her cheap. She added a few owl treats in the mix and left the store happily. A few people sent her wary glances as she walked outside with a giant owl on her shoulder, but she paid no mind. It was probably the most majestic bird she had seen, next to Hedwig and Fawkes of course.

After returning home and nearly scaring the life out of her parents, she climbed up the steps to her room and conjured a large bar for her new companion to perch on. Crooks came waddling in and immediately took like to the newest member. For the next two hours, she came up with possible names for the owl since the store had never managed to find it, until he finally responded to the name, Faris.

She grabbed Things Fall Apart from her shelf and wrote a quick note to Draco, tucking it under the cover. She wrapped the book tightly with parchment, and bound it to Faris' leg.

"Your first task from me," she smiled at the owl. "I need you to send this to Draco Malfoy. And if his father happens to be in the room, you can peck him a few times."

Faris hooted in agreement and launched himself off her window frame, his large wings beating through the night air and eventually disappearing into the sky.

Hermione watched him leave, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. This was going to be an interesting summer.

* * *

A/N: I've decided to have one summer chapter after this, then go straight into fifth year. As usual, tell me your thoughts on the chapter and thanks for all the love and response last time, you guys are amazing!

Fun fact of the day: Faris means 'Knight' in Arabic.

El


	10. Summer of Genetics

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Harry Potter :(

* * *

Chapter 10: Summer of Genetics

.

Faris returned two days later.

It was early morning when Hermione heard sharp tapping on her window. She grumbled, still half-asleep and forced herself out of bed. After sliding her large window open, Fairs hopped in and stuck his leg out for her.

She fumbled with the packaging in drowsiness, and finally untied the soft string. She handed Faris a treat, which he took with appreciative hoots and perched himself at the corner of her room.

Her mind startled awake when she realized the package was from Draco. She quickly pulled back the wrapping parchment and set her eyes on an old looking book that was quite thick, _The Buildings of the Wizarding Community: Middle Ages. _

A smile took her lips. She briefly wondered if he had a personal room of books to himself, but remembered this was Draco Malfoy she was thinking about—the lucky git probably had a whole library in his house. Opening the cover, a small torn piece of parchment slipped out. Bending over, she picked up the piece, recognizing his refined script.

_Muggle fiction? I'm skeptical. _

_Also, your owl is an insufferable messenger. My father was not pleased. _

Hermione stifled a laugh as she read the two lines multiple times. There was no addressee or even an indication of his name at the end, but she considered the idea better. If their owls were intercepted in some way, the catcher would have no idea who the letters were addressed to or where they were from.

Placing the book aside, her eye caught on another book, though this one was far more aged and battered than the others. It was the book Dumbledore had given her. She had yet to start reading the material, afraid for what she might find. She repeated to herself that her headmaster wouldn't force upon a book that was about the darkest magic or some sort, but she didn't feel convinced. The old text felt dangerous in some way.

Deciding to gather her courage with breakfast, Hermione set the book aside and headed down the stairs, careful not to wake her parents. After chugging everything with orange juice, she cleaned up the dishes by hand, having actually missed the activity while at Hogwarts. Some things just felt much more accomplished when done the hard way.

Hermione reentered the room feeling far more alert and refreshed. She glanced at the old book and released a steadying breath.

No more stalling. It was time to read the sodding book.

Feeling nervous, she slid her finger under the cover and flipped the stiff material back. She rolled through a few empty pages with care and finally saw a short block of text. Gulping, she read the preface.

_To the reader,_

_My name is Cato Gaius Max. I am the last living male to bear the old wizarding pureblood line of Max. My younger sister Ella has been married off into the Black family with Cygnus Black, and I have been disowned and cut from the family tree. But hear me; I have not a single regret. This book will be an extensive research journal where I will purge every last prejudice pureblood families hold. I have worked closely with the muggle scientist, Gregor Johann Mendel and he has shown me his astonishing discoveries, which you will read in this text. You may call me a blood traitor or a mudblood-lover, but you cannot take away the bare truth that muggle science has reached. Discover my words with an open mind, there is much more to life than the magical community had ever thought possible. _

_With luck,_

_Cato. 1864_

Hermione took a sharp breath. Mendel. A bell rang though her mind. She wasn't one too keen on muggle scientists, but it was a name that muggle kids studied as they entered school, the man called The Father of Genetics.

She glanced at the date again and calculated the math in her head. The book had been written over a hundred years ago, no wonder the thing was falling apart. She took a deep breath and flipped to the next page. There was a heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her whatever was written in the book was going to change everything. Glancing down, she tuned out the world.

_May 1856 _

_I am heading to Germany today. There is a muggle scientist that I have been seeking to work with in secret. He has informed me briefly on his experiments pertaining to the characteristics of life and traits of inheritance. Incredibly fascinating work this muggle has achieved…_

_._

_June 1856_

_Mendel has begun to work on what he deems as the Pea Plant experiment. He is watching for seven traits: Plant height, pod shape, pod color, seed shape, seed color, flower position and flower color. Interestingly enough, through the use of what he calls selective breeding, he will determine how traits are passed down. Surely, there are numerous muggle studies that indicate inheritance in plants and animals to be the same, if not similar. Humans cannot be any different…_

_._

_December 1857_

_Experiments are going in circles. There seems to be some kind of invisible force that makes certain traits appear while the others don't—truly, a mind-boggling branch of muggle science. Pea plants are constantly being sorted out, but Mendel and I are having difficulty trying to understand this invisible force. We deemed this force controllable however, by using certain traits and limiting others. It is not random, but perhaps an act of chance…_

_._

_April 1859_

_True progress has begun. We have captured this invisible force of nature to be quite calculable. Some traits were measured as dominant, while others recessive. There is another force that we have not discovered yet, that makes certain traits weaker or stronger over the other. Sometimes there is an odd mix. A white flower crossed with a purple flower produced a pink flower. However, this trait did not occur every time. We have already deduced this not to be an act of pure chance. We are going back to the beginning…_

_._

_November 1860_

_The problem is overcome. From the diagram in the last entry, it is concluded that what we deemed as purebred are simply results that contain two copies to each trait. All this time, we have been struggling with the idea of one copy, now the idea is overruled. This thought came about with the strange occurrence of outlasted traits appearing again. There was no explanation for them when we continued to sort them out through selective breeding. It is now clear. With two copies of each trait, we deemed that the weaker copy is not erased, but simply overcome. Due to the recessive copy still being in place, if there comes across a chance that it meets another overcome copy, there is a slim possibility of the 'lost' trait reappearing. Fascinating. _

_._

_January 1861_

_Mendel and I have created the four-point method, changing the previous diagram to a fully functional one. We are starting to lose track of the thousands of pea plant diagrams we have been through, but I see the end of this tunnel. There are a few problems still in question. Mutations are occurring with the older plants as we continue to dwindle the traits to specific ones. Mendel theorizes that because this trait pool is so small, there are problems that occur during and after the breeding process. Another confusion to overcome…_

_March 1862_

_I have begun to theorize with the idea of a magical trait. Is it possible? Truly, magic is a supernatural force that no one really knows where it started or how it came to be, but surely, there must be some explanation. If magic were passed down from parent to child just as flower color is passed down, many things would fit into place. Experimentation is needed…_

_._

_August 1863_

_My theories are concluding to be true. After Mendel and I parted, I have used the four-point method and every member of my family too as far as my lineage is recorded. If magic is truly a passable trait, it must be a dominant trait. In this case, when a purebred witch and wizard come together, there will always be a perfect chance of their child being magical. But where do the squibs fit in? How does this occur? More questions…_

_November 1863_

_I have found it. Of course, it is a shameful act that I have overlooked such a fact. Muggles. I have not taken them into account after they have been blasted off the family tree for tainting our line. It is of great reluctance when many purebloods admit they have removed family members due to marrying muggles. When a purebred witch or wizard is paired with a muggle, there is still a one hundred percent chance that their child will inherit the magical trait, simply due to the dominance of the trait. However, my theory is that the muggle copy is not erased. Similarly to the pea project, the muggle copy will remain until met with another overcome muggle copy. According with this, between half-bloods, there is a fourth of a chance the child will be without magic. I cannot yet explain how the dominant magical trait is overcome, it is most frustrating. It seems as if the magical trait will turn off randomly... more studying required..._

_Another situation I have found with purebreds, quite astonishing in fact. Mendel was correct. Continuous selective breeding within pureblood witches and wizards is damaging. This is the answer to all those unknown deaths that occur to unfortunate pureblood children when they are young. Inbreeding is dangerous. There are hardly any traits to be chosen from in the pool of characteristics, and children often have mental issues, lack of physical development, and early death. These cases are constantly blasted from the family tree as well. Researching was difficult, but rewarding. _

_However, yet another loose end remains in this experiment. Muggle-borns. Where do they come from? Clearly, their parents do not have an ounce of magic in them. Or do they? Back to research… _

_._

_June 1864_

_Squibs. The answer was squibs. Because they have not been registered within the ministry, tracking them was difficult work, but I have succeeded. I have studied four major pureblood families including my own, going through every birth within the last two hundred years. I have tracked down all squibs produced from each family, and their muggle descendants. And some of these muggle descendants were magical. The answer is thus: muggle-borns must have squib ancestors. More often than not, squibs will marry into muggle families, therefore overcoming the magical trait (this theory I will research more later), however it is never erased. It resurfaces generations later. How this resurfaces is something I have yet to discover. However, this explains the unequal number of muggle-borns compared to the number of squibs. Going off a strict lineage line, muggle-borns who are descendants of squibs, who in turn are descendants of purebred witches and wizards, mean that those so-called 'mudbloods' are actually distant family as well. _

_This discovery is immense. We are all connected one way or another. It is ironic to think the purebloods are actually the ones with 'dirty blood' from the generations of inbreeding. The wizarding society has made its mistake. Magic is an inheritable trait that has absolutely nothing to do with blood. The idea itself is truly absurd. How can blood determine magical ability? It cannot. A half-blood does not constitute a half-wizard. Change is in order. Perhaps when analyzing this from a true scientific point of view, one would call purebloods 'homozygous wizard and witches', meaning those who have both copies of magical traits. The half-bloods can then be called 'heterozygous', those who have a magical copy and a non-magical copy. Truly, where does this leave us? _

Hermione slammed the book shut.

Her heart was racing against her chest, and her fingers trembled slightly on the cover. There were a few more entries she had to go through, but she simply couldn't find the will or the energy to follow through. Glancing at her clock she suppressed a gasp. She had been reading for nearly the entire day.

Hermione brought her attention back the journal in front of her and let the revelation settle in. If she truly believed the man's word to be true, it was an amazing discovery indeed. She finally understood why Dumbledore had so many precautions with the old text. Thinking back, she wondered why this wasn't common knowledge. It would completely overturn the arrogant pureblood beliefs and people like Voldemort would be deemed mad with no followers.

Arrogant Purebloods.

She inwardly slapped herself, _of course_.

They would never accept it. They didn't blast off 'tainted' family members for nothing. She assumed the research had been copied and published, but was met with absolute outrage and denial. No wonder this was the last copy. The purebloods wanted nothing to do with it. If they accepted the book as true, it would be shattering everything they had ever believed in.

Another realization popped in. She was a descendent of a squib, thus, a true wizarding family. Her mind whirled and ran at light speed, trying to remember if her grandparents or great-parents had ever said a word regarding magic. Who was the squib? A mixture of anxiety and curiosity ate through her stomach. Hermione wanted nothing more than to burst into Hogwarts and file through every genealogy book until she found the answer.

Sadly, her summer had just started.

Releasing the book, she stretched her stiff shoulders and let out a strained groan when her spine cracked back into place. She rolled her sore neck multiple times and flexed her numb legs. Setting the old book on her desk, she flopped back onto her bed and stared at the ceiling.

Somehow, the information she read should have been a reason for celebration. She should have been jumping in triumph and owling everyone she knew.

Nothing seemed different.

Perhaps, it wasn't a surprise? She shook her head; the discovery was utterly immense. If the book were copied and published again, it would be capable of turning the wizarding world upside down if they accepted it.

Acceptance.

Hermione sat up. When had she truly come to terms with her parentage? If she had been secretly wavering with her blood status, this would have been good news to her. She frowned. It didn't feel like that at all. Sure, it was exciting, but it was just new information.

She shut her eyes in thought. Hermione knew with all the confidence in the world, she could jump on her roof and shout about being a mudblood and being proud of it—not that she would now, in light of Voldemort's insane followers around.

That was it. As immense and exciting as it was, the information changed nothing. She didn't value herself any more than she had before. After accepting her blood status and acknowledging the fact that she was considered an outcast, and that was okay—the new discovery meant nothing to her. She was still Hermione Granger, the insufferable know-it-all, best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, Muggle-born and proud of it.

Her shoulders lifted and she broke out in a smile. Her heart fluttered against her ribs as she opened her eyes. Would Harry and Ron ever understand the personal breakthrough she had just experienced? An image of Harry raising an eyebrow and Ron scratching the back of his head flashed before her eyes. She snorted.

Her mind drifted to Draco. Dumbledore had asked her to give the book to him after she had read it. But was he ready for it? She frowned and pursed her lips. If she gave him the information too early, he would reject it, stand firmly in his denial and it would be even harder to pull him out of that rut. Honestly, she wanted nothing more than to slap the book in his face with a triumphant 'ha!' and flash him a smug smile. Running her hand through her hair, she sighed and blasted the thought from her mind. She was walking on thin ice. Trying to get someone to change their views was not a pleasant process. Old views needed to be broken one at a time, which was a painstaking process in itself, then new habits needed to be built in place of it. If she forced things upon him too quickly, he would no doubt break in the operation. And now with Voldemort on the other side of the equation, along with his Death Eater father, Draco could easily be pulled back to them, lost forever.

Hermione took a deep breath and turned in her bed. Deciding to think on better things, she picked up the book he had sent her and cracked it open. This book was living proof that Draco was willing to give her a chance. She tightened her fingers in resolution. She wasn't going to let him down.

.

The next week passed by quickly. She exchanged books with Draco again at the end of the week—though this time, his owl had arrived first. There were two books attached to the leg of a large eagle owl, which she took with haste. The new guest perched on Faris' empty bar, as her feathery companion was currently flying to the burrow. After tossing him a treat, Hermione turned to both packages, gently tearing off the parchment and flipping the cover open. Sure enough, a small slip of paper was placed in the book she lent him, his elegant script causing her to be distracted again.

_A man obsessed with strength, determined not to show any weakness or emotion—in the story yes, but it can't be such a tragic flaw in reality. At least he had the decency to hang himself before he succumbed to the authority of invaders. _

She reread his short letter again, and hummed in thought. It was concise and to the point. Perhaps what he wants isn't a full-blown letter debate, but a simple review. Instead of responding to his thoughts, she grabbed the book he had sent her, ripped a sheet of parchment from her desk and wrote a short analysis of her thoughts on his book. She tucked the letter under the cover and wrapped it again. Deciding to let his owl rest for the day, she turned to the second book on her bed, picking it up with curiosity: _The Darkest Times. _She scrunched her nose; this would definitely be a lovely read.

The following morning, she grabbed her English translation of _Don Quixote_, added a few words under the cover, wrapped the book, and tied it to the eagle owl's leg along with _The Buildings of the Wizarding Community: Middle Ages. _She watched the black owl silently soar out of sight, hooting in farewell.

Fairs returned the next day with Ron's letter. The entire Weasley family was on the move. Not much was written in the note except that they would come pick her up next week Sunday at 6pm.

She received a surprise letter from Viktor, his owl landing messily on her window frame, clearly exhausted from the long trip. Faris was reluctant to let the new bird rest next to him, but Hermione gave him a stern look, and a 'please'. After tossing both of them treats, she gently unrolled the parchment and read through his letter. Durmstrang was appointed a new headmaster by a name she didn't recognize, the school itself seemed quieter, but there was clear tension in the air. He was playing Quidditch again, and promised her that he was still studying and practicing his spells. Smiling, she thought of what she could say after his owl had gotten enough rest.

Thinking of Viktor made her stomach jump nervously. She had thought he was just another Harry and Ron to her, but the familiar sensations of when she first met him were resurfacing. She liked Viktor, honestly. She had woken herself up from the dream that Ron would ever see her as a girl long ago, and it was time to give someone else a chance. She bit her lip, remembering the farewell kiss he had given her, and the way he truly accepted her for who she was, the entire muggle-born and know-it-all package.

Sudden bitterness rose in her chest as she thought of a certain blonde prat who was quite similar to Viktor but thought in the opposite direction. She sighed, feeling a headache approach as she thought of her delicate situation. Determination filled her senses as she reminded herself that the circumstances were getting better. She would make things work. She wouldn't fail Dumbledore.

At 5:50pm, Hermione had her suitcase packed and set, Crookshanks at her ankles, and her parents, already informed, safely inside. She released Viktor's owl with her reply letter the night before and sent Faris to Draco with another muggle book of her own, and the one he lent her, both with small notes under the covers. She cringed as she remembered the content in _The Darkest Times, _stories about witches and wizards being hunted as a sport, along with gruesome, detailed accounts of those who were accused.

Shaking her head, she glanced at her watch, 6:02pm. They had informed her to stand in her backyard instead of the front door, which was strange.

A second later, there was a loud crack and two figures popped out of thin air. She turned at the noise, startled, recognizing the Weasley twins, one of them unfortunately caught in the branches of the large tree.

"See George, I told you to study the picture longer," Fred remarked, pulling his twin by his robes. "I got here perfectly all right without running into any trees."

"Hardly," George replied, throwing himself off with a grunt.

Hermione nearly stepped on Crooks. "What are you guys doing here?"

The twins finally turned to her, a smirk on their faces. "We're here to pick you up. Got Ron's letter, did you?"

"Of course," she muttered. "You're both of age now. Why do I have a feeling your mum didn't approve of this?"

"Well dad had an emergency Ministry meeting, so he's out," Fred explained. "So we volunteered to go in his place—"

"Two minutes ago," George finished.

She shook her head, not wanting to argue with the two of them. It was never productive.

Fred grabbed her trunk, while George took her wrist.

"You take him," Fred demanded, looking down at Crookshanks.

George looked offended. "I've got to transport the lady, Fred—you take the cat."

Hermione growled and scooped her familiar in her arms, glaring at both of them. "I have him, now let's go."

"Yes, ma'am," they both replied.

The world disappeared from her vision as she shut her eyes and focused on keeping her dinner in place. She felt like she was trapped in one of those muggle tunnel slides, until the pressure vanished and she opened her eyes again.

They were standing in a long street, which looked oddly like a muggle neighborhood. The sun was setting in the horizon, casting an orange glow through the entire street.

She followed the twins onto the pavement, clutching Crookshanks a little tighter than necessary. Fred dug in his pockets for something, then pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to her.

"Read it and think about it," he instructed.

She took the slip, immediately recognizing Dumbledore's handwriting.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

Slightly confused, she glanced up at the twins then scanned her surroundings for the supposed building. A second later, a run-down looking door appeared out of nowhere, followed by a stone wall and large broken windows that had used to look intricate and fine. The muggle houses to the side next-door seemed to shift aside, to reveal a large, dark looking house that she could have sworn appeared out of the shadows.

George pulled out his wand and tapped the silver doorknob, resulting in several shifts of locks being undone. The old black door swung open, revealing a dark hallway.

As they walked inside, a few candles flickered on and a rush of pounding footsteps echoed ahead of them. Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley before she saw her.

"FRED! GEORGE!" she screeched, rounding the corner. "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU TWO! THE NOTE FROM DUMBLEDORE GONE! BOTH OF YOU NOWHERE IN SIGHT!—hello Hermione, dear—COMPLETELY RECKLESS—"

"Mum, don't shout!" Fred yelled back, trying to hold off the Weasley matriarch.

There was a sudden scream that filled the air, far louder than Mrs. Weasley's voice and sounded very close to a dying animal. Hermione cringed and tried to see where the offending noise was coming from.

"Blood traitors! Half-breeds! How dare you taint the house of my fathers! Filthy scum! Be gone from this noble place!"

"OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!"

"Who is that!?" Hermione yelled over the screaming as Mrs. Weasley headed off with an exasperated look.

"Portrait of Sirius's mum!" one of the twins shouted back. "She's a complete lunatic!"

She barely saw Lupin dash out from one of the room looking incredibly tired, and rushed to wherever the mad woman was screaming.

"Can't you take her down?" she yelled a little louder.

"She's got some sort of permanent sticking charm! Trust me, that was the first thing we tried when we came here."

After a few more minutes, the screaming died down with a flutter of curtains. Fred and George looked at each other, then down back at her.

"We're going to dash—"

"Can't face mum's wrath now—"

"We'll take your trunk to Ginny's room—"

With that, the two of them disapparated from the hall, leaving Hermione standing alone and slightly taken aback. Mrs. Weasley appeared again, panting slightly.

"Hermione, good to see you, did you have dinner? The kitchen is straight down the hall in the back."

She nodded. "I ate before arriving. Are Ron and Ginny in?"

Mrs. Weasley huffed. "Upstairs, and do try to be quiet."

Not wanting another round of screaming, Hermione tiptoed up the creaking stairs. She grabbed the old railing for support, regretting the action immediately. Retracting her hand in haste, she stared at the strange gooey substance on her palm, trying not to gasp in a mix of disgust and fear.

What a pleasant looking home for the next three weeks of her stay.

.

Pleasant was far from her true feelings regarding her experience at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had spent the next two weeks decontaminating the house with Ron and Ginny, trying to remove every living species that had exponentially multiplied in the last twenty years.

Dumbledore had given them a surprise visit along with a handful of Aurors, but the meeting had turned sour at the end, when the old wizard had them swear not to speak of Grimmauld Place to Harry in their letters. Not yet. She and Ron tried to argue that their best friend was probably dying for some means of contact or information, but Dumbledore was firm in his word. Surprisingly, he did not mention a single thing regarding the research book he'd given her, or the situation with Draco.

To make matters worse, Order meetings would take place in the kitchens, but she was barred from the room with resolute rejections. No one under age was allowed to listen in on the meetings. The night Harry was attacked by Dementors, Hermione spent hours pacing in circles in her room, while multiple Order meetings took place.

The only thing that kept her sanity in check was her book-exchanging escapade with Draco. Faris had returned three days after arriving at Grimmauld Place, and they had exchanged two more books since then. Her reviews on his books had gotten longer, even adding in a side comment at the end, showing subtle concern for his wellbeing. Ron had asked who she was owling books to, but she waved him off saying it was a friend she met at the library. It technically wasn't a lie. He seemed to buy it.

To say that her best friend was upset at being left out with his muggle relatives was quite the understatement. After arriving, Harry blew up mid conversation, fuming and utterly distressed at being left out of everything for weeks on end when he was the one Voldemort wanted dead. In retrospect, the madman wanted everyone dead, but Hermione bit back her snarky remark and let him blow off some steam.

Once dinner was served, Harry received his answers, and Hermione received another book from Draco, things started to look better. Her newest book, _Purest of the Pure_, was an old wizarding genealogy volume that went as far back to the 10th century. Thousands upon thousands of names along with dates filled every page. She felt excitement bubble in her stomach as she clutched the book. It may have been limited to only pureblood families, but it was a great place to start her genealogy quest.

The following day, Harry was cleared of all charges after his trial by the Wizarding court. She practically jumped in delight when her letter from Hogwarts arrived a few days before the start of the new term, with a shiny Prefect badge in it. Much to her surprise—and everyone else's for the matter—Ron received a badge as well. Molly was ecstatic, declaring that a congratulatory party will be in order.

After the celebration was over, she headed upstairs and scribbled a rather long review of the previous text Draco had sent her. She suggested returning the newest book to him at Hogwarts, which started in two days, and even added her new Prefect status at the end. Grabbing her last muggle book, _Wuthering Heights, _she wrapped the book in parchment and tied the package to Faris' leg, letting her owl set off into the night sky.

Grimmauld Place bustled with life early in the morning as half its younger residents were packing, running around the house and slamming in their last minute supplies. Hermione was standing outside with a screaming Mrs. Weasley—honestly, when was she not yelling anyway—when Faris swooped around her and landed on her lugged with a quiet clank. He stuck his leg out for her, which she tended to with mild surprise. She had not expected Draco to reply since they were returning each other's books at Hogwarts. Unraveling the parchment, she read his short letter.

_Agreed. _

_And so did I._

It was always short and to the point, but Hermione understood immediately. Draco was also a Prefect. Her chest swelled in emotion and a smile broke out on her face. She was not surprised at all with the fact. Draco may have been—or technically still is to some degree—a prat, but he was still one of the top students in their year. Folding the parchment, she tucked it in her robes and waited for everyone else to file out. Mr. Weasley wasn't able to get any ministry-approved cars so the trip had to be made on foot.

During the twenty-minute trip to the station, Hermione sent Faris straight ahead to Hogwarts, unable to bring him into the train without a cage, and she knew he was far too proud to confine himself into one.

The old Express Train came into view, and she smiled, watching the smoke pour from the top and horns being tested before departure. It was the scene of familiar chaos that she had come to look forward to every September.

Clutching her bag, she exhaled. Another year was here.

* * *

A/N: 9.11: chapter is now edited. (What would I do without my lovely Betas?) Thanks for keeping this story in line.

And as always, tell me your thoughts on the chapter, the good or the bad. I know this was a very wordy chapter, not much action or intense plot twists, but it was needed. I feel like now that Hermione is strongly rooted in her identity, a lot of other things will come into play.

A fun fact about this chapter: I was originally going to have Hermione meet the Weasleys at the Burrow, but then I remembered reading how Fred and George were now of age and had passed their Apparition test 'with distinction' so I thought, '_Why the hell not, they can come pick up Hermione.' _And thus this chapter was born.

See you guys soon,

El


	11. New Conviction

Disclaimer: How I wished I owned Harry Potter... just kidding, I probably would have butchered everything with my luck and skill.

* * *

Chapter 11: New Conviction

.

As they stepped into the train, Hermione and Ron separated ways with Harry rather awkwardly, explaining that they had to head to the Prefect carriage.

"We'll be back soon," she assured him, trying to ignore the betrayed glint in Harry's eyes.

The two of them made their way to the front most cabin where the Head Boy was waiting for them. The carriage was far larger than the others, clearly able to fit in dozens of students in at once. Fifth year prefects began to file in as the train lurched into movement. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco walk in with Pansy Parkinson behind him. A sense of disbelief settled in the pit of her stomach as she wondered how on earth Parkinson had gotten the Prefect position; there wasn't anything above average about the girl except her dull stupidity.

Ron nearly tripped next to her.

Ignoring her sudden train of thought, Hermione turned to the blonde, giving herself a brief moment to study him. He had grown again, now standing nearly a head taller than her. His white blonde hair was a little longer, no longer slicked back tightly in gel, but tossed to the side, framing one side of his face. He seemed to have the strange skill to look more intimidating with every passing year.

Hermione tore her gaze away as the Head Boy began to instruct them on their duties for the year and walked around, passing out their patrolling schedules. She smacked Ron's hand as he tried to take it, quickly grabbing the slip from his fingers—there was no way she was going to let Ron hold onto their schedule since they received only one copy.

After a full hour of more explanations and agreements to uphold Prefect duties, they were released from the meeting. Prefects filed out of the compartment, heading to their respective places.

Ron grumbled as they followed the other students out. "I can't believe we have to patrol _every_ week, how am I ever supposed to get my work done?"

Hermione shook her head. "Ron, even without the patrols, you never get your homework done on time."

"Yeah, well I did ask a certain _somebody _to help me—"

"Oh don't put this on me," she scolded, sliding the Prefect carriage door closed. "You know full well that you spend too much time with Quidditch, or Chess, honestly."

"It's not my fault, I—"

"Well, if it isn't Granger!" Pansy Parkinson called to her, scrunching her face in distaste. She was leaning against the side of the Prefect carriage, arms crossed. Ron stopped mid sentence, spinning on his heel in a defensive pose. "—And Weasley. There clearly must be some mistake here—you receiving the Prefect badge."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, wondering why the Slytherin hadn't gone to her own compartment. Now that she recalled, where was Draco?

Ron's face turned a nasty shade of red, making a motion to grab his wand. "I'd say the same, you lousy little—"

Not letting the insult slip out, Hermione grabbed his shoulder and yanked him back, pulling his hand out from his robes. She gave him a sharp look.

"Let's go," she demanded quietly, dragging Ron along. "We are _not _engaging in a fight before we even get to Hogwarts."

"You hiding, Granger?" she yelled. "Just like you did all summer in your pathetic muggle world?"

She ignored the girl. Hermione didn't realize until now, but it was extremely easy for her to ignore Parkinson's taunts. This only seemed to aggravate the Slytherin.

"Hey!" she shrieked. "I'm talking to you, Mudbloo—mmph!"

Several things happened at once. Ron tore his arm from her grasp at the blood insult, yelling in anger, and Hermione turned around after him. The Prefect compartment door slid open with a resounding bang, and a pale hand flew over Parkinson's mouth, clamping her against the door.

Surprised, Ron hesitated for a split second, but it was enough for Hermione to grab his shoulder again and pull him back. She sent him a glare, glancing over to the carriage door. Draco stepped out, and yanked his hand off Parkinson's mouth.

"Stop yelling, Pansy," he ordered coldly. "You're giving me a headache."

"But Draco!" she whined, pointing at her. "She was ignoring me and…"

The dark haired girl trailed off and audibly squawked when she noticed Draco's expression. He looked absolutely murderous. Hermione cringed back subconsciously, slightly alarmed. What had made him so angry? Did something bad happen over the summer?

"We're leaving," he spat, turning on his heel and walking the other direction.

Parkinson didn't hesitate. She sent them a nasty glare before waking after him, nose in the air.

"Come on, Ron," Hermione urged, after a silent moment. "Harry's waiting."

"What's up with Malfoy?" he asked, sounding more curious than angry now. "He didn't even _try _to be an evil git."

She shrugged, honestly unsure of his actions as well. "I don't know. But I'm not complaining."

"Right," he grumbled.

They arrived in a compartment Harry and Ginny had saved. She was introduced to Luna Lovegood, a Ravenclaw in Ginny's year who made Hermione question the girl's sanity.

Once the train came to a full stop, she and Ron left the group to supervise the first years. After they had finished guiding the new students to their respective places, the two rejoined Harry at the carriage.

"Hermione," Ron whispered, nudging her side with his elbow.

She turned to him, raising an eyebrow at his attempt at discreetness. "What is it?"

"Shh!" he hushed her, darting a wary glance at Harry who was sitting on the far side, staring blankly at the front of the carriage. "Tell me, are there any weird horses around?"

"Erm… no," she blinked, feeling confused. "Why?"

"Well, you know just between you and me, I think Harry might be seeing things," he whispered worriedly. "He told me there are horses pulling the carriage… you reckon he could be losing his—"

She smacked his knee, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Ron, haven't you ever read _Hogwarts: A History_? Or even _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_? There are Thestrals pulling these carriages. Harry isn't going crazy."

"What are Thes…Thes-a-what?"

"Thestrals," she repeated. "They're a breed of winged horses that live in the Forbidden Forest; Hagrid manages them. And as for why you and I can't see them… well, apparently you can't see them unless you've seen death."

Ron took a sharp breath. "Death? Like…"

"Cedric Diggory," she answered quietly, suddenly feeling grave. "And don't talk to Harry about it… it's only going to make him upset."

"All right…" Ron absentmindedly trailed off.

To add to Hermione's sudden distress, the night was looking bleak. Professor Grubbly-Plank was back and said Thestral manager was nowhere to be in sight. The Sorting Hat greeted the new year with an eerie song, sounding as if Hogwarts was about to meet its doom if they did not unite, and the Ministry was now interfering with Hogwarts through their new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a toad like lady by the name of Dolores Umbridge.

She knew the moment she walked into her dorm, the new year was going to be far from easy. Her roommates were skeptical of Harry's claims, not wanting to believe that Voldemort had retuned. Over the summer, the Daily Prophet had been trying their best to discredit her best friend by proclaiming him crazy, and assuring that Dumbledore was turning out to be an old senile man who was spouting nonsense. The claims were absurd and had absolutely no backbone, but when compared to the news of Voldemort's return, most people would rather believe they were delusional than admit the Dark Lord was back.

When breakfast was being served the following morning, McGonagall came around, passing out their timetables. Hermione took hers with haste, not even surprised to see a second one under hers. Except this year, Dumbledore didn't bother to write out his warning.

She scanned through her schedule first—History of Magic, double Potions, Arithmancy and double Defense Against the Dark Arts all on Monday morning. She didn't need to hear Ron's groan to know the year was going to be stressful. She ran through the rest of her classes—Charms, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Astronomy and Care of Magical Creatures. Glancing at Draco's timetable she began to chew on the inside on her cheek. He shared a few of the same classes as her, but had one free period during the time she had Charms, on a Thursday evening. She mindlessly rubbed the Time Turner that was underneath layers of her robes, and sighed.

Monday droned by in a blur. History of Magic was the same as ever, Snape was still being unfair to Harry, she sat next to Draco in Arithmancy, but the blonde didn't utter a single word to her, and Umbridge was an absolute joke. The woman shot down any actual practice of magic, and focused on 'Ministry approved' theory reading. Hermione adamantly refused to read her book, seething by the time class ended with the bell ring. Not even the Slytherins looked happy.

When Thursday came around, Hermione scurried off to the familiar empty corridor on the seventh floor, pulled out her Time Turner and flew back two hours. She had absolutely no idea where Draco would go today. Though their professor's have been bombarding them with more homework than ever, she silently prayed he would spend his free period in the library.

Thinking back to his schedule, she knew he was finishing up Transfiguration, and headed down to the first floor. After minutes of waiting, the doors flew open, letting the fifth year Slytherins shuffle out of the classroom. She spotted him, surrounded by Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Zabini and surprisingly, Nott. After observing Draco all last year, she had a decent grasp on his group of friends, and knew that Theodore Nott was never part of his group.

Harry's words then rang through her mind.

Nott's father was a Death Eater. She frowned. There must have been some kind of meeting over the summer. She had no doubt it wasn't a coincidence that the children of Death Eaters were suddenly moving in a pack.

Draco seemed to dismiss his little groupie with a wave of his hand. It took some time, but he was soon left alone in the hall. Hermione waited at the end of the corridor, trying to guess where he would go. He began walking towards her down the hall, running a hand through his hair and sighing softy. Just as he past her, Draco stopped. He turned on his heel and narrowed his eyes in her direction.

She cringed slightly. Again! How was he doing this every time? Hermione pushed herself against the wall and held her breath.

He titled his head as if analyzing a particularly difficult puzzle, but there was a clear glint of suspicion in his eyes. Crossing his arms, Draco slowly stepped to the other side of the wall and leaned against it, glaring at her side of the wall as if something offensive was written there. Hermione didn't even dare to move. For a full ten minutes, Draco just stood there, arms crossed, and a strange look on his face.

Hermione quietly resumed her breathing.

What was going on? Clearly, he turned because he sensed something, but_ how?_ Did he know she was there and was waiting for her to reveal herself? She glanced at him again. He was occasionally looking around as if he was waiting for something to appear.

As quietly as she could, Hermione tiptoed away, taking one careful step at a time before she was a good ten feet away from him. After a few more steps, Hermione rounded the corner and clutched her chest. Her heart was racing against her ribs, and her hands were slightly shaking with the adrenaline of nearly being caught. She didn't think she had been seen, but she was sure that something had triggered him to stop.

Making an impulsive decision, she released the disillusionment charm, took a deep breath and turned the corner again.

As she stepped towards him, Draco immediately looked up a strange look in his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked first. Her voice sounded higher than usual from the nervousness, and she silently hoped he didn't notice.

He pushed himself off the wall and regarded her with narrowed eyes. "How are you doing that?"

She froze. Had he caught her? Was he asking about the charm? She inwardly shook her head. It can't have been. He would have said something for sure while he was standing there.

"Doing what?" she inquired lightly, trying not to sound suspicious.

He paused, looking hesitant. "You… never mind. And what are _you _doing here, Granger? Don't you have class?"

She shook her head, feeling disappointed that he had taken his words back. A small part of her wanted to know what he was going to say, but the rest of her feared his sudden suspicions.

"I came to return your book." She reached into her pocket and pulled out the _Purest of the Pure. _Tapping her wand, she released the shrinking charm and held the book out for him.

He took it from her with a frown. "I don't have your book with me."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Just return it whenever… I do have another book for you though."

"You know," he breathed. "All this muggle fiction isn't going to make me understand you lot."

"This one's not muggle fiction," she revealed. "Actually, it was written by a wizard. A pureblood one at that."

His eyebrows rose. "Then there's a good chance I already read the book."

She gave him a curt shake. "No, I know you haven't. And to be honest… I don't think you'd want to read it."

"Why? Is it written by a blood traitor—trying to explain how fascinating muggles are?"

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "That's not it… I just don't think—" she met his eyes squarely. She couldn't make assumptions; she needed to know for certain. "—Malfoy, what do you think of me?"

"What are you getting at?" he growled, obviously confused with the sudden topic change.

"Well," she began. "Let's be real with each other. Do you think I'm lower than you because I'm muggleborn?"

He paused. "Yes."

Hermione inwardly frowned. His voice might have been firm, but his eyes were swimming in uncertainty. Just which part of him should she trust?

"Do you still think that spending time with me is going to taint you?" she pressed.

"Granger, we are not _spending time _together—"

She cut him off with a slight roll of her eyes. "Just answer the question, please."

He crossed his arms again. "I wouldn't know. You could be somehow doing something right now. Because that's what you muggle-borns do, you steal magic from us."

"Are you willing to test out that belief?" she challenged.

"What do you mean?" he sounded he cautious. "Are you really going to try and steal—"

"No!" she threw her hands in the air. "I already told you that it's not possible! I'm saying, if there's something that contradicts you, are you willing to face it?"

"You're contradicting me right now."

"Yes, but you don't consider my word to be reliable," she countered. "Someone else."

Hermione could practically see the clogs in his head turning. His grey eyes regarded her carefully. "So this new book. It tries to explain how muggles are right in their word, doesn't it?"

"No," she corrected. "It explains how purebloods are wrong."

"And the difference is?"

"Because muggles are wrong too. Purebloods believe that we stole magic, and muggle-borns believe that we were somehow chosen by magic. We're both wrong. This is an entirely different theory."

"And you believe it?" he asked with an eyebrow raise.

She nodded resolutely. Draco paused for a second than snorted softy.

"It's nonsense, Granger," he finally said. "You're supposed to be smart, not going around thinking absurd claims to be true."

Hermione's heart caved. She lowered her eyes in defeat and inwardly sighed. So he wasn't ready.

"I suppose," she mumbled. "But, I'll have the book if you ever want to read it—"

"Don't bother."

"Just consider it, please," she asked again, raising her eyes to meet his. "It doesn't have to be now, but later in the year, if you change your mind…"

He scowled. "Don't count on it."

She sighed. "Oh, all right."

"Now are we done here?" he asked. "I believe I just wasted my free period standing twenty feet from my last class."

She inwardly smiled. She felt a little bad knowing that Draco also probably had tons of homework, and she was on borrowed time while he wasn't.

"Sorry, yes. I suppose I should get going as well."

He simply grunted and walked around her, his shoulder barely grazing the edge of her robes. After his footsteps faded with distance, Hermione finally glanced at her watch, eyes widening. He was right. Over an hour had gone by. She frowned—to be fair, the first twenty was spent just standing in the corridor, trying blend in with the wall.

She replayed their conversation as usual, picking up small indications of his facial expressions or his body language, and filed it away in the 'Draco Malfoy section'—which was growing bigger and more complex with every meeting. She sighed for the umpteenth time as she recalled his rejection. He just wasn't ready.

Deciding to kill the remaining time in the library, she headed to the third floor in thought. Excitement filled her chest as she remembered the summer's discovery—there were a few genealogy books that she had to look into.

.

The only good thing that occurred the following week was Ron's success in making it to be Gryffindor's Keeper. The common room was bustling with noise and shouts of cheers that night, Hermione had hardly the chance to get her work done.

Sirius made a surprise appearance through the fireplace at midnight, shocking the three of them. He warned them about Umbridge and watching out for the pain in Harry's scar before leaving them with a quiet 'pop'.

Her partially good mood plummeted when she read the Daily Prophet headline, naming Dolores Umbridge the newest 'High Inquisitor'. The despicable toad held immense power over the other staff given to her by the ministry, and Hermione was crumpling the paper by the time she finished reading the article. This was completely outrageous! She speared her eggs with her fork and handed the offending article to Harry and Ron.

Umbridge visited during their fifth year class on numerous occasions, with the subtly of an elephant. The vile woman was obviously looking out for Harry and gave him weeks of detention at a time for the smallest of reasons. Hermione clenched her fists in fury after she found out about her special detention lessons that comprised of carving sentences into her best friend's hand. How could she? Sure, Harry didn't have the best temper, in fact, he was blowing up more and more recently, but the woman was worse than Snape—which was saying a lot.

Every Monday, Hermione sat quietly in her class, the 'ministry approved' text already read from cover to cover. She crossed her arms in frustration; oblivious to the wary looks Harry and Ron gave her.

This wouldn't do. She was not going to spend an entire year reading out of a theory book, unable to preform a single defense spell. To hell with the Ministry's ignorance, Voldemort was back and they needed to find a way to defend themselves with every spare moment.

She racked her brain for possible situations. Umbridge would never move her sorry arse to teach them anything useful, so it was up to them—they needed a new teacher. She briefly considered asking Dumbledore, but dismissed the idea the next second. The Headmaster already had too much on his plate. Professor McGonagall popped into her scenario but was dismissed with similar issues. Umbridge had a keen eye on the professors; it was no surprise though when Trelawney was put on probation.

The idea then came to her. She glanced over to her green-eyed friend with wide eyes. He wasn't looking at her, but had his face resting in the palm on his hand, looking incredibly bored, probably staring at the same page for the last half-hour.

Harry.

He was perfect. Sure, he was having temper issues recently, but she couldn't really blame him. When it came down to it, he was the best in their year at Defense. Hermione didn't even feel bitter anymore with the fact. Her mind began whirling with vision. She could only hope he would accept the position.

She cornered Ron alone after class and informed him about her idea. He seemed surprised, but ultimately agreed with the plan. He would be there when she asked Harry to teach them.

As Hermione sat in Arithmancy Monday before dinner, she glanced at Draco from the corner of her eye, watching him jot down the sequence Professor Vector had written on the board. It was the third week in, and she hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him the past two weeks.

Feeling a rush of boldness, she tore a piece of parchment from her roll and picked up her quill. She scribbled a short question.

_What do you think of Umbridge?_

Taking a deep breath, she slid the paper towards him, watching from her peripheral vision. His hand stopped moving as his eyes shot to the parchment pushed towards his side of the desk.

For a minute, he did nothing. Hermione knew there was a good chance he would ignore her, but to her surprise, he scribbled something on the parchment and shoved it back to her.

Still in mild shock, she looked down.

_A real joy. _

She frowned. Tearing another piece from her roll, she elaborated on her previous inquiry.

_I'm talking about her teaching style. Are you honestly satisfied with her 'Ministry Approved' course? We aren't learning a thing! _

She slid the new parchment to him, still frowning. He replied much faster this time.

_Snape could do better. _

For once, Hermione agreed with him on it. Snape may have been an extremely biased professor, constantly favoring the Slytherins and calling out Harry on a weekly basis, but he was still an efficient teacher. Sighing softly, she tore another piece and wrote back.

_It's ridiculous! She's a complete farce—her and the Ministry. How are we supposed to defend ourselves if we don't learn anything? Others agree with me too, we need to actually learn something this year. Time is of essence! _

He raised an eyebrow at her before writing his reply.

_Careful there, Granger. You sound as if you're about to create some rebel group against Umbridge. Unwise._

Hermione's eyebrows twisted. He was as sharp as ever. She knew she was walking into dangerous waters, letting Draco get a glimpse of her plan, but she felt strangely at ease. Instinctually, she wasn't doing anything wrong—or so her gut feeling told her.

_Maybe I am. It'd be a whole lot better than rotting in her class every Monday without practicing a single spell. I know you're not bad at Defense either. _

He paused a second longer than normal before writing.

_Was that a hidden invitation to your secret cult? Did you forget who I am? _

She stared at the letters for a minute. Was this a challenge? She could take back her words and deny his claim, or she could cordially explain her entire plan. She didn't hesitate any longer; it felt right to ask him for his thoughts. Dipping her quill in ink, she gave him her reply.

_No I didn't forget, but I trust you and I value your judgment. Is that so wrong? _

He gave her a strange look. After a minute, he leaned closer to her with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"It is wrong," he hissed under his breath. "My father is quite well acquainted with Umbridge you see, so don't take it as a surprise if she finds out your little plan."

Hermione clamped her hands against the table, staring back at him with matched intensity.

"You wouldn't tell her," she replied calmly. "If there's one thing I didn't forget about you, Malfoy, it's that you wouldn't place yourself in such a position. Self-preservation, right?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Besides," she continued quietly, keeping her eyes sharp. "The Malfoy I know has a sense of dignity. Umbridge isn't worth your time. Do you think differently?"

"Granger, you—"

"Anything interesting to share with us?" Professor Vector's voice cut through. "Miss Granger? Mr. Malfoy?"

Both their heads snapped back to the front. The dozen other students in the class were looking at them with curiosity. Hermione felt her face burn, it wasn't everyday that the teacher called her out for not paying attention.

"We apologize, professor," she replied in an even voice. "Malfoy and I were just discussing the theories behind that sequence."

She raised an eyebrow. "And that is?"

Draco didn't answer. She inwardly sighed knowing that he wasn't going to help her out of the situation in any way. Hermione quickly glanced at the sequence on the board, her mind already whirling with possible theories.

"The number seven," she began, "considered to the most powerful magical number, however I argued that it is also the most unpredictable. It appears in the sequence in the forty-ninth position which is a product of two sevens. Based on Wenlock's discovery of the properties regarding the number, it is arguable that this numerical composition itself is highly irregular but will produce a heavily accurate prediction when set correctly."

"Excellent observation Miss Granger," Vector nodded in approval. "Take ten points to Gryffindor."

The class turned back around. Hermione released a quiet sigh of relief and settled back into her seat. She glanced at Draco from the corner of her eyes, slightly startled to find him frowning.

Not trusting to keep her voice quiet, she tore a piece of parchment and picked up her quill.

_What is it?_

He shot her a look of annoyance before writing his answer.

_You cheat, Granger. _

Confusion filled her. Cheat? Furrowing her eyebrows, she replied.

_Cheat on what? _

He snorted.

_Your memory ability, using it to your advantage like that. So this is how you manage to get top marks, relying on your special little skill._

Hermione nearly tore the parchment apart. How dare he assume she was relying on her memory? Not once had she done that! Furious, she glared at him, tearing a large piece and huffing. She wrote a long explanation.

_Listen here, Malfoy, it doesn't work like that. I can only memorize. Nothing more. When I commit something to memory, I'm really only memorizing the visual components, symbols, images, marks. I can't actually memorize the meaning, or understand what I just saw. That's another ability in itself. Remembering the meaning of a sentence versus the letters that make up the sentence are two entirely different things! I can't actually use it to my advantage because understanding something and simply memorizing it is not the same thing. _

She shoved the slip across the desk. Draco glanced over, his eyes moving through each sentence. Looking up, he smirked.

"Whatever you say."

She took a steadying breath. She knew he was just trying to taunt her, but if he really believed her marks weren't the result of her determination and hard work, she just couldn't let that go. Taking another breath, she pursed her lips.

"What are you doing Thursday?" she asked instead, careful not to get called out again.

He looked disappointed by the lack of response. "Practice. Why—do you have more books you want to force through my head?"

She shook her head quietly groaning.

Quidditch. She had forgotten all about it.

"No, the only book I have left for you is the one I told you about last time," she paused. "That's the last one."

It was her trump card. Once he read the book, he would either accept it or reject it completely. And she knew after that, nothing she said or did would get through to him. Hermione also greatly hesitated in giving him the book, knowing the timing could either make or break it.

He didn't answer. Understanding that pushing the conversation on him would do no good; she turned to her neglected notes and began writing down the sequences.

A half hour later the bell rang, indicating the period over. Hermione jotted down the homework and began organizing everything back into her bag. Slinging the strap over her shoulder, she turned on her heel to leave the room when a large hand caught her shoulder.

Snapping her head, she saw Draco lower his face. He wasn't looking at her.

"I wouldn't use Faris from now on."

His breath tickled the side of her neck and Hermione fought the urge to shudder. She opened her mouth to ask, but he pulled his hand back just as quickly and walked away.

For a moment, she stood rooted in place, staring at his retreating form. She frowned. If he had warned her not to use her owl, it could have only meant one logical thing. Was someone monitoring the owl postage?

Umbridge.

She pursed her lips. That evil hag was trying to control the entire school. Hermione had her speculations after Harry's encounter with Filch, but she didn't think all the owls would be subjected to search. After the initial frustration began to die down, a warm sensation began spreading through her chest.

He had willingly warned her.

She breathed. Maybe hope wasn't lost after all.

Holding onto that one thought, she released steadying breath and walked to her next period. Merlin knew she needed to stay calm before sitting four hours in that woman's class.

* * *

A/N: ...I am completely amazed by all your reviews and responses from the last chapter! Wow, you guys always blow me away with all the love! I also want to reassure my reviewers who were confused by the last chapter—please understand I'm no Biology expert. I do Art and Animation. But Cato's theory will be explained more in the (waaaay) later chapters, so don't worry about the details as of yet. I will say though, that his journal and research is incomplete, and it will hopefully be continued by a certain witch.

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Send me your thoughts. I really do fangirl over each and every one of them.

El


	12. Faris and the Knight

Disclaimer: I used some direct words from the book in this, so I stress, that bit I definitely don't own.

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Chapter 12: Faris and the Knight

.

To her utter delight, Harry finally agreed to her proposal. After two weeks of falling into the cycle of losing his temper and receiving another skin-cutting detention from Umbridge, he was adamant about letting off some pent up frustration.

"Trust me, Harry," she encouraged excitedly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Even Viktor was amazed by your skills. Have some faith in yourself."

Ron looked displeased. "Vicky eh? Just how many guys have you been talking to?"

"Don't call him Vicky," she calmly demanded. "And I can have as many pen pals as I please, Ron."

"He's not just a pen pal Hermione!" he argued. "And I'll bet my new broom that the other person you were owling all this summer is male too!"

"So what?" she snapped back. "We're only talking Ron. It's not like I'm telling either of them all Harry's secrets or anything. Honestly can't you have more faith in me? It's utterly mortifying!"

His face grew red, clearly recalling her response from the Yule Ball. "I—I was just—"

"Guys, _please,_" Harry raised his hands, heaving an irritated sigh. "I'm so tired of you two always bickering like this."

"I… I'm sorry Harry," she clamped back her retorts, a twinge of guilt settled in her stomach. "Anyway, I'm planning on setting up a meeting in Hog's Head for anyone's who interested. What do you think?"

"I'm still skeptical," Harry admitted. "Who'd want to learn from me?"

She crossed her arms, and bit back a smile. "You'd be surprised."

Once October came flying in, Hermione was moving on autopilot. She and Ron had gone around to ask the other students about learning under Harry. Unsurprisingly, many of them agreed. She had wanted to keep the group small, but a quiet word soon got out to the Ravenclaws, and even the Hufflepuffs.

The meeting at Hog's Head could have gone smoother in her opinion—and if Harry hadn't made her give an impromptu speech—but she was just glad to be out of the spotlight. She had everyone at the meeting sign their name on a roll of parchment she cleverly jinxed, so that if word ever got out about their meeting, she'd know who did it. They were a few people she felt immediately unsure about, and it was always better to be prepared than throwing caution in the wind.

Much to her—and Ron's relief—Harry seemed to be in happier moods since then. He had been getting fewer detentions than before, and both boys were practicing Quidditch like never before.

Both their good moods crashed when Umbridge passed another educational degree, indicating any group was now disbanded and could no longer meet unless she had approved of it. Unfortunately for them, it also meant Quidditch. While both of them fretted over their beloved sport, Hermione sat in the common room, grim.

It couldn't have been.

She shook her head. It definitely wasn't a coincidence that Umbridge decided to pass this degree right after their meeting in Hog's Head. Thanks to the jinxed paper, she would have known if anyone tattled on them, but the list showed no indication of betrayal. She sighed, knowing that there was one person who knew about the plan, and his name wasn't written on the list.

She lightly slapped her cheeks. No. Draco would never tell. She didn't know where the conviction came from, but it was unwavering. It wasn't him. There were plenty of other sketchy looking people in the pub; any of them could have overheard their conversation. Deciding to worry about the suspect later, she rolled the list with a tap of her wand and stored it away safely in her bag.

From then on, Hermione spent every spare moment in the library. Once everyone agreed to meet, she knew they needed some form of communication. They couldn't just keep relaying information on meeting times and places by word of mouth. That would be incredibly hard to keep under control—Umbridge would catch them within the week. As she sat in the library, she recalled Snape's words from the previous year.

_The Dark Mark is a means of distinguishing one another and a means for him to summon us. When he touches the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Apparate instantly to his side._

Hermione begrudgingly crossed her arms. It was absolutely brilliant. She obviously didn't want to burn marks onto anyone's skin, but the spell work was efficient. Only the owner of the mark could feel the burn, and they would be called to Voldemort's side.

She needed to find that charm.

After days of searching through advanced Charms textbooks, she finally found the spell that could create the same effect, if not similar. She chewed the inside of her cheek when she realized how advanced the work was. Steeling her nerves, she settled herself into a large chair. She wouldn't give up until she found a way to preform the charm to perfection.

Draco's warning had come true when Hedwig hobbled into History of Magic the following day, injured and looking displeased. Harry carried her off to Professor Grubbly-Plank seething and unhappy again.

"That horrid woman," she growled under her breath, letting her tightened fist softly pound on their table, "attacking Hedwig like that."

Ron turned to her warily. "You really reckon it's her? I mean—I know she's got a lot of power and all, but hurting our owls is a bit overboard."

Hermione nodded without a doubt. "No, I know it's her doing. She's out for Harry; she'd do anything… Even our owls, we need to watch out for Pig—"

"Are you serious—us too?" he pointed at himself, groaning. "Bloody hell, this woman is nuts…"

She huffed. Draco didn't warn her as a joke. But she couldn't tell that to Ron. "Please, Ron. Just be careful of what you send with Pig. She knows."

He grumbled, "Fine. You as well then."

"Yeah…" she trailed off.

Hermione sat in the library for the umpteenth time that week, pouring over the book dedicated to the Protean Charm. She grimaced at her fake coin, realizing that it was another failure. Tossing the fabrication aside, she threw an accusatory glance at the textbook.

After a minute of glaring, Hermione sighed as she closed her eyes and listened to the rain splatter against the library windows. It was storming outside combined with the occasional flash of lightning, and Angelina thought it was wise to have the Gryffindor's Quidditch practice. She pressed her cheek against the cold glass, letting the soft tremors from the weather calm her mind. She had always thought rain was calming. Even during heavy storms, she could escape boredom by watching the drops of water splatter against the clear glass and trail down in rows. It was almost hypnotic.

Three heavy raps against the glass startled her from her trance. Jumping, she shot her eyes open and snapped her head towards the window. She could see a dark figure outside on what she concluded was a broom. The rain obstructed everything else.

"Harry?" she called, feeling her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

Was practice over already? What in Godric's name was he doing all the way up here?

Rising from her chair, she neared the window when a flash of lightning temporarily illuminated the figure, revealing pale skin and blonde hair.

She nearly gasped.

"Malfoy?" her jaw lowered in shock. Reaching out she grabbed the revolver and turned the window open. After a moment of great effort, the old frames creaked outward, confirming her suspicions.

A large grey owl jumped from the broom and swooped in, soaked and splattering water all over the carpet.

"Faris!" she exclaimed, still partially in shock.

The owl landed on her table, shaking its head of the rainwater and looking rather proud. She cast a quick drying charm over her familiar and vanished the large pools of water that trailed in. She then turned to the mess behind her.

Draco had shut the window again, but the floor was now completely drenched. He was dressed in his Quidditch uniform, now a few shades darker due to being soaked in rain. His blonde hair fell over his eyes and drops of water trailed down his face. The man had literally took a swim in the rain.

"What on earth—" she tapped his uniform with her wand, banishing the water. "—What happened to you? What are you doing out there? Honestly, you nearly gave me a heart attack—"

He grabbed her wrist. "Granger, stop."

"Sorry…" she quickly relaxed her fingers, letting her wand grow limp in her hand.

He didn't let go of her wrist, and his eyes narrowed.

"My team was going to practice but the Gryffindors had the field booked," he explained briefly, a flash of irritation flew across his eyes. "Not like I'd want to fly in this storm anyway."

"But then—"

"And what did I say about using owls now?" he growled, suddenly looking angry. "Did you not understand me?"

"What—no, I did!" she defended. "I wasn't expecting a reply yet and I had sent him before you even warned me."

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Who is what?" she tried pulling back her hand, but his grip was like iron.

"The person you're talking to," he clarified.

She tried to hide her blush. "It's just Viktor…"

Honestly, there was nothing to hide anyway. It's not like they were passing secretive messages to each other about how to overthrow the ministry or some rubbish like that. She didn't understand why he seemed so upset.

"Krum?" his eyes widened slightly, but the grip on her wrist tightened considerably. She winced.

"Malfoy, it hur—"

"Why the hell are you still speaking to him?" he asked harshly.

She blinked, startled by his sharp tone. He looked genuinely angry. His stormy eyes were slanted and his upper lip curled slightly. Frustration filled her chest.

"I can talk to whomever I please!" she retorted hotly. "Honestly, why is everyone placing restrictions on who I can and cannot talk to—first Ron, and now you!"

"Don't compare me to Weasley," he spat.

"Well it's true!" she shot back. "And why do you care? It doesn't even concern you."

"I don't care," he coldly answered. "Why are you still talking to him?"

"Because he—is—my—friend!" She stressed each word, feeling her hand go numb from his grip.

"Friend?" he repeated, as if he couldn't believe her.

She sighed, "Yes, _friend._ You know, people you like for who they are and you genuinely enjoy their company—mutual affection."

He scowled.

"Malfoy, please let go," she tugged at her wrist, not meeting his eyes. "You're really hurting me."

His grip immediately loosened, but his fingers lingered over her wrist, until he finally dropped her hand. Sighing, he ran his other hand through his still wet hair, lightly shaking out the water.

"Look, Granger, I…" he paused, frowning. He had that look on his face, making the situation all the more puzzling. "You know what—forget it."

"Just say it," she urged, feeling more confused than ever. She still didn't even know what he was doing out in a storm with Faris.

"I said forget it," he dismissed. "This doesn't mean anything."

She shook her head. "What are you talking about? I'm not following you…"

Gripping his broom, he spun on his heel and walked over to the window. He cracked open the frames easily and mounted.

"Now hold on just a minute—"

"I'd keep Faris in your room for now," he snapped his eyes to her. "And make an effort to listen will you?"

Before she could respond, he pushed off his heels and launched himself out the library. He flew through the storm again and sharply turned right before disappearing from her view.

For a minute, she stared out the open window, completely dumbfounded.

Another flash of lightning shot through the sky, but Hermione could only see darkness.

Faris hooted next to her, and she finally brought her attention back to her feathery companion.

"What the hell is going on?" she mumbled to the owl.

Her wrist was still throbbing from his grip. Puling back her sleeve, she saw red streaks on her skin, indicating where his fingers had been.

She sighed, and let her sleeve fall again. How utterly frustrating! He was harder to deal with than the hormonal teenagers she had babysat a few summers back. And that was saying something. Dropping into the seat she crossed her arms and let out a low grumble of confusion. She didn't understand him at all.

Remembering to take the letter, she reached over to Faris' leg and unwrapped the string. The parchment had obviously been charmed to resist any weather conditions, leaving the letter perfectly dry. Deciding to read it later, she tucked it into her bag and went back to brooding over Draco's behavior.

Faris clicked his beak. Glancing up, she gave him an apologetic look.

"You'll have to stay in my room for now," she explained, feeling nervous about Draco's warning. "I promise I'll leave the window open."

He looked slightly upset with the idea, but pecked her fingers affectionately. Ruffling his soft feathers, Hermione sighed again. What a chaotic evening.

.

Sleep was threatening to consume her. Hermione had gotten little rest the night before, as her mind refused to slow down until she understood Draco's actions. It was safe to say she didn't succeed.

She sat in Herbology, trying to keep her wiggling plant from escaping the pot. No matter how much she thought, she just couldn't grasp his behavior. She knew something had angered him, and he was fighting that anger. But it didn't seem like he was upset at her, more with… himself perhaps?

"—As I was saying—are you listening, Hermione?"

She snapped her attention back to the two boys. Harry had stamped his plant inside, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"I'm sorry, tell me again?" she asked, feeling her face grow red. "I was thinking of something else."

Harry smiled. "I was saying that I found a place for us to hold our Defense trainings. Dobby informed me."

Surprised, she quickly glanced around. "Well, Harry, that's wonderful, but shouldn't you a little more cautious of when Dobby tries to help you?"

"Don't worry," he shook his head. "This is a real room. Perfect actually. Dumbledore told me about last year—just on passing though."

She was still skeptical. She had never heard of such of room, but since Harry seemed certain, she would trust his decision.

"When are we going to see it?" Ron asked under his breath, forcing his plant inside the pot.

"Tomorrow night," he answered, throwing more soil in. "Dobby gave me the instructions."

"Well that's good," Hermione inputted. "You both need to finish your potions essay."

They both groaned.

Wednesday afternoon, she was ready for the day to be over. She wanted to see the room Dobby had found. After Harry's description of this 'Room of Requirement' she was dying to test it out.

Dragging herself from Ancient Runes—one of the other classes she didn't share with Harry, Ron or Draco—she stifled a yawn. As she was about to cut the corner up ahead, a familiar sickly sweet voice broke through the corridor's silence.

"—What do you mean you lost it?"

Hermione froze in her tracks, recognizing its owner. It was definitely Umbridge.

"My apologies, it was unexpected," came another voice, raspy and low, most definitely a male.

Filch.

Settling herself against the wall, Hermione slightly peaked over the corner to try and get a look. The two of them were standing in front of the staffroom, a rather convenient time as everyone was making their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

"Explain!" Umbridge demanded, looking livid. "I give you the perfect opportunity yet you have lost it!"

"I was watching the owl close in, and was about to retrieve it," Filch continued. "But it was intercepted before it reached me."

"Intercepted?" she screeched. "How? Who was it?"

"I—I don't know," he admitted. "It was too dark and noisy due to the storm, but I saw whoever stopped the bird was on a broom. They flew ahead of it and somehow convinced it to follow him elsewhere."

"This is preposterous!" she exclaimed, throwing her stubby hands into the air. "Who dares…!"

Filch snorted. "Who? I have a good guess. The Gryffindors had booked the pitch that night; they were playing the same time the grey owl was intercepted. I'll bet anything it was Potter. It's no surprise he's keeping a watch on his friend's owls. "

"Mr. Potter…" Umbridge repeated in her sickening sweet tone of voice. "Of course. He has been causing nothing but trouble. He has gotten that sure of himself?"

"I believe he has been warned by others," the caretaker mumbled. "He seemed to be on alert ever since I tried to take his letter the first time—with the Dungbomb reason—he had already sent his owl by then."

"Unfortunate," Umbridge whispered, but nodded slowly. "Yes… keep up the watch. Now that I know Potter is aware, we must watch his companions' owls more closely. Do not lose the letters again, am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Filch growled.

"Good, good," she said rather cheerily. "Now off you go."

Hermione bolted from her spot before Filch even moved a step. She would take the long way back to the Great Hall—she didn't care.

Blood pounded in her ears and as she lengthened her strides. She tried to even her breathing, telling herself that she didn't understand.

But she did.

_Whoever stopped the bird was on a broom…_

Oh god.

She clamped her mouth. So that was it. Everything began clicking into place. Draco's Quidditch practice had been halted by the Gryffindors taking the field, so he had probably been flying around and spotted Faris. According to Filch, he stopped her owl and guided him directly to her.

He knew Filch was waiting for Fairs and he had intercepted.

Feeling her heart beat race, Hermione cut another corner and released a tight breath. She finally understood his actions and the familiar warm sensation in her stomach returned.

This was bad. Hermione knew she had no trouble identifying the sudden happiness in her chest, but the intensity of it startled her. She was starting to lose her distaste for Draco. Scratch that—she had already lost it long ago, now she was beginning to actually tolerate him. She shook her head—she _enjoyed _his company.

_Forget it. _

_This doesn't mean anything._

Hermione bit her lip. His words rang though her ears, and it now made sense to her. But how could it not mean anything? This wasn't the first time he had willingly gone out of his way to help her.

The logical side of her mind wanted to analyze it. Organize the events into statistics and probabilities; his actions should be studied from a non-objective point of view. But her instinctual side—one that she had been listening to more these days regarding Draco—told her that she already knew the answer. There was no need to theorize anything. He might have been complex, but emotions weren't a puzzle, they were to be understood by her own feelings, not logical reasoning.

As she walked through the double doors of the Great Hall, her eyes immediately trailed over to the Slytherin table. She quickly spotted Draco—bless his light hair—and saw that he was facing forward, conversing with a sixth year. A small green apple was sitting between his palms. Staring harder, she saw that his eyes were turned, right in her direction.

She blinked.

He looked away.

A second later, she reached the Gryffindor table, sitting down between Harry and Neville.

"Who were you looking at?" Harry asked innocently.

"I'll bet it's that bloke you sent books to, eh?" Ron stuffed a piece of chicken in his mouth. "Probably a book-obsessed Ravenclaw."

Hermione glared at him. "So what if I am? He's my friend, Ron. And it's called being intelligent, you know."

She inwardly smirked. Nothing she said was actually a lie. She was indeed, looking at the boy she owled books to over the summer. He was—whether Draco liked it or not—now considered a friend, or something like it. She too, wasn't sure how to proceed properly noe.

The redhead grumbled. "I'm telling you now, Hermione, he isn't your friend."

Filling her plate with mashed potatoes, she shrugged. "I'm not going to argue with you again about this. He's my friend. Honestly, am I not allowed to have other guy friends?"

He speared a carrot, looking down at his plate. "They aren't asking to be your friends, must I say more?"

She rolled her eyes. Technically it was true. Draco never wanted to be friends with her. Or so he said. She made a silent note not to trust everything that comes out from his mouth. She needed to read his expressions.

"Then what?" she snorted softly, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

Ron turned a deep shade of red. "He's obviously trying—trying to get with you!"

Hermione choked.

Pumpkin juice trickled down the side of her mouth as she pounded her chest in order to breath. After a few moments of spluttering and feeling utterly embarrassed with herself, she wiped her mouth with a napkin and cleared her throat.

She had not been ready for that image.

Looking up, she saw Ron had transitioned into a dark plum shade, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

"S-so it's true!" he exclaimed, louder than necessary. "He really is trying to—to get with you!"

"No! Ron—for heaven's sake," she turned to her other best friend. "Harry, help me, please."

He just sighed, looking tired. "All right, both of you calm down, everyone's looking."

True to his word, most of the Gryffindor table along with the Ravenclaws next to them were shooting them strange looks.

"I can't believe you!" Ron yelled again. "You're practically betraying us—"

Hermione slammed her hands against the table, causing a few plates to clatter. She leaned forward and settled her face into a menacing scowl.

He had just crossed the line.

"Ronald Weasley, shut up and listen to me," she snarled quietly. "First of all, you have no right to dictate who I am friends with, regardless of their gender. Secondly, I am _perfectly_ capable of taking care of myself, so stop being a prick—you're not my father! Thirdly, stop jumping to your own conclusions! Did I ever say that I was seeing him? Or even Viktor for that matter—"

"Well it wasn't that hard to guess—"

"Don't interrupt me!" she snapped. "Can't you just believe what I say? Would I really lie to you guys? Honestly, Harry listens to me all the time! I love both of you dearly, but if you're going to accuse me of betraying you every time I make other friends, I don't know how long I'll be able to stand the shame!"

Ron went silent. Harry was glancing back and forth between them, looking unsure, and Neville had scooted away a good two feet, appearing quite nervous.

"I—It's not that I don't trust you," Ron mumbled, looking down. "We're just looking out for you, is all…"

Hermione softened her expression. "I know. And I get that, but like I said, I can take care of myself. Trust me. And trust my judgment."

"Yeah all right," he muttered. "I know you're not betraying us."

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. That's all I ask."

Harry looked relieved. "Great, now can we go check out the Room of Requirement? I know you guys are both dying to see it before anyone else arrives."

Hermione stared at her untouched food. She would have to stop by the kitchens tonight. Maybe sneak in some galleons and hide them in the drawers as thanks.

"Okay, let's go."

The three of them rose from their seats and left the table. She sent an apologetic glance at Neville, feeling slightly embarrassed he had seen her snap. She would have to redeem herself at tonight's meeting.

After reaching the Gryffindor common room, they pulled out Harry's map and checked the location of Filch, Mrs. Norris, Umbridge, and for safety precautions, Snape. After the coast of clear, they scurried out of the tower. The Room was apparently on the seventh floor; in front of the tapestry depicting Barnabas trying to teach trolls how to dance. Hermione was positive she had never seen any kind of door there.

As they arrived, she watched Harry pace in front of the door, having already explained to them how the Room was supposed to work. Feeling nervous, she shut her eyes and concentrated tightly on their needs.

_I need a place where twenty-eight people can freely learn Defense Against the Dark Arts… A safe place, somewhere where Umbridge can't reach us… A room where we can fight properly…_

"Hermione!"

Whipping her head up, she saw that an old polished door had appeared on the wall. Feeling her heart pound, she gave a reassuring nod at Harry.

The three of them stepped inside, and she heard Ron gasp quietly. Harry had opened the door to a large room that seemed to be half the size of the Great Hall. There were towers of books lined on the walls, filled with all kinds of reading material and instruments, stacks of cushions were spread over the marble floor, and the entire room was brightly lit by flaming torches that hung high on the walls.

After a moment of looking around, groups of students slowly began filing in, all holding the same expression of awe. Harry had to explain five times what the room did and how to access it before everyone had made it to the meeting. It was absolutely perfect.

The rest of the night went exceedingly well in Hermione's opinion. They had elected Harry as their leader, and he had done exceptionally the first night, starting from the disarming charm. They had chosen to call themselves Dumbledore's Army, or D.A when they were talking beyond the walls of the room.

As they argued over what day and time they would meet again, Hermione grumbled at herself. She had still yet to master the Protean Charm. She was close, but linking twenty-seven fake coins to a master coin was harder than in theory. Promising herself that she would get it down before the end of the week, she waved each departing group farewell and followed Harry and Ron back to the Gryffindor Tower.

It was Thursday tomorrow, meaning she would see Draco.

A strange sensation settled itself in her chest as she thought about him. Biting her lower lip, she tossed herself on the bed and let her mind roam. When had this happened? She never intended to actually care for him this much. Her plan was to help change his views without strangling him, and let Dumbledore know she had succeeded. She closed her eyes.

_There is much more to this assignment than it may seem… _

He was right. She didn't want to admit it to anyone, but she had been wrong about Draco. Yes, he was arrogant, hotheaded, and was complete arse most of the time, but he was secretly gentle, he could display expressions that she didn't think she'd ever see on him, and he cared for people in his own way. He was no Harry or Ron—she knew he grew up in a completely different environment than most others. He wasn't like anyone else, but at the same time, it made no difference to her.

Whether he admitted it or not, Draco needed help. If he chose not to follow in his father's footsteps, she would be there to guide him elsewhere.

_And what if he did? _

She shook the thought away. No, he couldn't. He wasn't like that. Hermione rocked back and forth on her bed, chewing her lip. If he did… then she would stop him.

Dumbledore had warned her about the man who was just like Draco, making the wrong choices until he had gone too far. She had a strong feeling he was talking about Professor Snape, especially after he had revealed his Dark Mark last June in the Infirmary. She was shocked to see him at Grimmauld Place for Order meetings, and concluded that Dumbledore must have redeemed him somehow after the first Wizarding War. Hermione didn't know why no one had tried stopping the Potion's professor when he was younger, but she would be dammed on the day she let Draco's arm match his.

She was resolute.

* * *

A/N: Good day, my readers! I hope everyone had a fantastic Halloween—or at least better than mine because I was stuck in the studio doing work—sad, I know. My roommates are jamming to Christmas music already.

First of all, thank you so so much for getting me past a big landmark of 100+ reviews/favs and 200+ follows! It really warms my heart that you guys are liking this story. And because of this, I have a surprise gift below the line break that gives you guys a brief glance into Draco's head in this chapter! To be honest, I'm quite nervous about it because I've been writing through Hermione's head this whole time, I'm not super confident on how well I captured his character and thought process. If you do like it, let me know because I'm thinking of writing little snippets here and there from Draco's POV whenever I reach another landmark. If you don't like it, still let me know so I don't embarrass myself writing another one. Haha.

That's about it for this note, I'll see you wonderful people later,

El

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Bonus Chapter 1: Draco's Dilemma

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"Pitch is booked."

Draco lifted his gaze to his Quidditch Captain, Montague, feeling his eyebrows come together in displeasure.

"Which team?" Warrington piped up first.

"Gryffindor."

"I thought Professor Umbridge had it taken care of?" Adrian Pucey growled from behind him.

Montague shook his head. "It looks like Johnson made a plea to McGonagall, who then went to Dumbledore—but it doesn't matter, it's going to storm soon. The Gryffindors can fly out there all they want."

Much of the team grumbled anyway, annoyed that they had to get dressed in their uniforms and now had to change back. After another wave from Montague, the team disappeared back to into the changing room.

"Malfoy," Montague jerked his chin towards the tent. "Going in?"

After a moment of hesitation, Draco shook his head and threw his leg over his broom. "I'm staying out."

With that, he launched himself in the air, feeling the cold wind and rain slice his skin. He urged him broom higher and higher, shooting through the rain clouds and soaking his uniform within a minute. He closed his eyes and took in an icy breath.

He still couldn't shake her face from his mind.

Granger.

Her actions had plagued him for the past month, creeping through his defenses and reminding him every time he dared his mind to wander. He couldn't shake her off no matter how hard her concentrated.

Draco pulled back his numb lids, almost expecting to see her in front of him, looking straight through his façade and past his barriers. He sighed, realizing that the rain was doing nothing to stop his wandering mind.

She had looked at him with such conviction and certainty that day, it made his stomach lurch uncomfortably.

_I trust you, and I value your judgment._

He tightened his jaw. Had anyone ever said something like that to him with such confidence? He couldn't remember. But the mere fact that her words had created such turbulence in his tightly regulated mind was driving his conscience mentally ill.

Lightning struck before him, and Draco briefly caught sight of a small flying animal, making a mad flight though the storm over the Forbidden Forest. Glad for the distraction, he gripped his broom and flew towards the animal, curious as to what it was.

There were only a few animals he knew that would dare to fly in this weather, but it was odd that the bird was flying in route straight to the castle. Squinting through the clouds, Draco tilted his body forward and sped towards the bird. A mixture of surprise and shock gripped his chest when he realized the bird was an owl. It had an impressive wingspan that beat through the storm and against the wind, its bright amber eyes were shining with clear determination—there was no mistake, Draco had recognized him almost immediately—it was Granger's owl.

Faris squawked through the storm at him, clearly recognizing the Slytherin from seeing him all summer. Draco forced his broom to turn sharply, flying parallel to the grey bird next to him.

Confusion and irritation coursed through him. His warning to her seemed to have gone completely unnoticed. There was a small voice in his mind that suggested she could have sent him before he warned her, but he perished the thought angrily. Releasing an aggravated breath, Draco watched as another streak of lightning illuminated the sky briefly, causing his stomach to tighten. Faris was headed straight towards the Owerly, where no doubt, Filch would be waiting to retrieve him and the letter.

_I don't care. _Draco stubbornly thought,_ let her owl be taken._

Granger's face flashed through his mind again, her large brown eyes looking up at him with the utmost confidence and faith.

_No. I don't care._

Faris flew faster, now that the castle was in sight, and Draco gritted his teeth. He couldn't understand where the feeling was coming from, but it was tugging at his heartstrings, demanding to be noticed.

His will caved.

"Faris!" he flew closer to the bird, trying yell over the storm. "Stop! You can't go to the Owlery!"

The owl hooted back, but seemed reproachful about stopping when he was so close to his destination. Draco scowled as he realized they were nearly at the tower.

"I'll take you to Granger," Draco insisted, setting his course in front of the owl. "Just follow me around."

Faris cocked its head, clearly recognizing his owner's name, but it didn't seem to be enough.

Biting back any remaining dignity, Draco growled under his breath and turned to the owl one last time.

"I'll bring you to Hermione," he said more firmly, finally catching a sense of recognition in the owl's eyes. "_Come on_, she's waiting for you somewhere else."

To his relief, Faris changed courses and turned to follow after him. Seeing that the owl was behind him now, Draco urged him broom to move faster, cutting through the rough wind and rain. He tried to ignore the lingering sensation on his tongue after his last sentence; Granger's name had felt wrong coming from his mouth, almost as if he was in no place to speak it.

Draco flew from the Owlery as fast as possible, not knowing where he would even find Granger. He could always return to the Quidditch pitch where Potter was surely playing, but trying to explain that situation wasn't even worth the effort. He had no idea which tower the Gryffindor girls slept in, but even if he knew, he doubted that Granger would have left her window open.

There was only one logical place that he could try now.

Titling his broom head down, he descended near the third floor outside the library, and flew closer to the window. He knew by heart where Granger always sat, but refused to acknowledge the information logically. It was just a damn coincidence, that's what it was.

Warm light illuminated the inside of the library, but the constant plummet of rain obscured everything inside. Draco slowed to a stop when he was an arm's length from the window, and Faris landed at the head of his broom and hooted loudly, pecking at the window frame.

Trying to wipe away the stream of rainwater from the glass, Draco narrowed his eyes at the figure on the other side, unable to believe he had found her so easily. Granger was leaning against the window, her cheek squished against the cold glass, the quill and parchment temporarily abandoned at her desk.

His stomach lurched and Draco whipped his hand across his chest, clutching his uniform to try and squash the sudden burning sensation.

This didn't mean anything.

Nothing.

Granger was still an annoying Potter lover that didn't warrant his sympathy.

She had to be.

Satisfied with his convincing, and mildly irritated at Faris' continuous pecking, Draco raised his hand and knocked against the glass window.

All his convincing seemed to die as Granger's lids shot open, vulnerable and wide-eyed, then turned to look right at him.


	13. Too Close for Comfort

Disclaimer: Slowly but surely... prepare yourself for some fluff—or as fluffy these two adorable losers can get. Oh yeah, and I still don't own HP.

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Chapter 13: Too Close for Comfort

.

Halloween decorations began to fill the halls as October arrived. The weather had calmed down to a degree, but the wind was still blowing fiercely, causing Hermione's hair to stand up and look crazier than normal.

Huffing in annoyance, she ran her fingers through her tangled curls, trying to tame them to the best of her ability. She had exactly three minutes before Draco's Transfiguration class ended, and she might as well have spend that time trying to look somewhat decent.

Her arms froze.

_Wait. Look decent?_

She slammed her hands down, shaking her head. This was just Draco! There was no need to look decent at all for him; she didn't care what he thought of her. It wouldn't have mattered if she had taken a swim in the Great Lake, she still wouldn't have tried to fix her appearance for anyone, much less for him. Ignoring the bubbling sensation in her gut, she firmly crossed her arms in refusal, making sure to continually repeat to herself that she didn't care.

Three minutes passed like that. She heard the bell ring through the castle walls, and the doors boomed open. Dozens of Ravenclaw and Slytherin students emptied the room in groups, until she finally spotted him trailing out with the last of the students. He had a hand rubbing the back of his neck—a clear sign of distress—and scowled at whatever Parkinson had said.

To her dismay, Draco walked with his group down to the Slytherin dungeons, and Hermione quietly trailed after them. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she could tell the atmosphere around them was growing strained by the second. As the group neared the entrance, she quashed her curiosity and reminded herself that the echo of her footsteps could easily give her away if she got to close.

They slipped through the hidden portrait quickly, leaving Hermione to sit outside alone. Inwardly sighing, she leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting with her knees propped up. She had hoped he would head to the library to work, but it looked liked she would spend another two hours in the dungeons by herself.

Deciding to at least leave the cold, the brunette pushed herself off the ground and silently retraced her steps back to the grand staircase. She sat down on the lowest step, making sure to keep an eye out for anyone that could potentially step on her without knowing she was under the disillusionment charm.

Ten minutes into waiting, soft footsteps echoed through the dungeon entrance. Snapping out of her musings, she lifted her head up and smiled. So Draco had decided to come out after all. He walked briskly out of the dungeons in a beeline straight towards the stairwell. Hermione studied his face as he drew nearer and frowned. He looked troubled again. The corners of his lips were pulled into a slight grimace, his eyebrows were furrowed into a deep slant, and his hands were shoved into the pockets of his robes.

Standing up, she followed after him, certain that he would go to the library. His bag was slung over her shoulder, rhythmically bouncing against the side of his leg with every step. She had a feeling that getting him to talk today wasn't going to be easy. Pursing her lips, she walked through the library doors and removed the disillusionment charm with a swipe of her wand.

If she could only get him to tell her what was bothering him…

Her mind flew with multiple ideas, until she finally settled on a decision. She originally might have considered it reckless and completely unlike her, but she knew things have changed between them—even if it was the barest amount. She really did trust him.

Hermione found him at his usual seat next to the window, and took a few deep breaths. She gave him a moment to himself, knowing that he wasn't in the mood for pointless talk.

After checking her watch, she took one last inhale and peaked over the bookshelf.

"Hey, Malfoy," she called.

His head snapped to hers, and she could have sworn the stiffness in his shoulders seemed to ease. The next moment he crossed his arms and frowned.

"Granger," he drawled. "What is it?"

Walking around the corner completely, she approached his table cautiously.

"I… wanted to thank you for helping Faris that night."

His fingers twitched. "I thought I told you to forget it? And your thanks is undesired, so don't bother."

"Well I won't," she crossed her arms in a similar manner. "At least accept my gratitude."

He growled. "Don't test it."

A genuine smile took her lips as she leaned forward. "Thank you, Malfoy—no, I should say Draco, shouldn't I? Well—er—thank you for helping my owl."

His name felt foreign coming from her own mouth, but she stubbornly held her smile to stay casual.

Draco's eyes widened by a fraction, and his jaw loosened. She would have thought he didn't hear her if it wasn't for the sudden alertness in his eyes.

"You—"

"Friends don't call each other by their surnames," she quickly interrupted, trying to shrug it off. "Come on, we've known each other for how long?"

"We aren't friends, _Granger,_" he shot back.

Hermione did her best to look offended. "…I consider you my friend."

"See," he scowled. "This is exactly why I said to forget it. You think I actually care? You misunderstand me, I only helped your owl because it would have been a headache for me later on."

"No, I don't think I misunderstand," she countered. "As you've told me multiple times, you don't help people out of the goodness of your heart. Yes, I get that. But it doesn't change the fact that you ended up helping Faris, and I'm thankful. That's it."

"We're not friends," he insisted.

"Whatever you say, Mal—Draco," she raised her hands. "But you can't change my opinion—" He glared at her. "—Now, will you follow me for today? There's this place I want you to see."

She reached for his wrist, and pulled him out of the chair, causing him to grunt in surprise.

"What the hell?" he barked, readjusting his bag and quickly swiping his Transfiguration text from the table. "I need to work."

"You can work there too," she replied, not looking at him. "Take it as my gratitude for helping me. I think you'll like it, trust me on this."

Hermione left the library towed him up four flights of stairs, fighting off the nervousness that was starting to chew through her stomach. She actually didn't know if he would like it, but it was worth a shot.

"Granger, where are you going?" he asked for the third time, annoyance laced in his voice.

After rounding the last corner, she spotted the familiar tapestry on the left corridor, and took a steadying breath. She released his arm and dashed into the empty hallway, ignoring the confused glint in Draco's eyes. She concentrated as hard as she could, praying to every deity she knew that a door would appear.

_I need a room where Draco feels the most comfortable . . . A place where he can be at ease, and where he and I can talk and study freely . . . Where no one can bother him._

After pacing back and forth three times, Hermione glanced at the opposite end, immensely relieved to find that a door had appeared.

"What the—did that door just—"

"I'll explain in a second," she waved. "Come on."

Glancing at the darkly colored wood, she grasped the cold doorknob, and turned. She hadn't known what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this.

She walked into a spacious room that looked to be a combination of a study and a bedroom. The walls were a light cream color with rows and rows of bookshelves lining the wall on the right. There was a large wooden desk to her left, seemingly empty except for a few extra rolls of parchment, quills and books stacked neatly in one corner. Right above the desk was a large window, immediately reminding her of the one in the library where Draco usually sat. Holding her breath, she peaked out and inwardly gasped at the view below. A bright garden filled her line of sight wherever she looked. Flowers and trees of every kind occupied the area, and there was a small pond underneath a short fringe tree, trickling water through a spinning wheel. After a few seconds of staring, she realized that the room seemed to be above the ground floor, and Hermione had a difficult time convincing herself that the room had created all this. It looked so incredibly real.

Stepping away from the window, she neared the large bed with an elegant looking nightstand by the head. The sheets were neatly pressed along the mattress, not a single crease disturbing the smoothness of the material. She ran a hand over the silky material, marveling at the Room's inventiveness.

Getting over her initial surprise, Hermione turned to see Draco's reaction, only to find him still at the door, with an expression of utter disbelief.

"Granger, what the hell is going on?" he said at last. Spinning on his heel, he grabbed the door and pulled, looking left and right as if to make sure they were still in Hogwarts. "How—"

"This is the Room of Requirement," she explained, feeling amused at his reaction. "It's a room where people can enter only when they have a real need for it. Sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not, but it will change to the person's needs. If you walk past the empty wall three times, concentrating hard on what you need, the room will create it for you."

He didn't look convinced. "So we're still in Hogwarts? This room? You're sure?"

She nodded. "Positive."

"What did you ask for?" he narrowed his eyes.

She bit the inside of her lip, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I… asked for a comfortable room to study . . . What's wrong?"

He was tapping the desk, as if he couldn't believe it was real.

"This is my room."

She frowned. "Well, I suppose so—since the room created it based on our needs—"

"No, this is my room," he repeated more forcefully, turning his head to face her. "In the manor, this is exactly what my bedroom looks like. The placement, the color, and the style… it's all the same. That's my bed—" he pointed to it, "—my desk—all my books . . . Although there's supposed to be two doors over there for the closet and bathroom."

Hermione whirled her head around as he pointed at various things. She didn't even know this could happen. All she asked for was a peaceful place to study and talk, blocking out uninvited guests.

Maybe something a little more personal.

"I-I didn't know," she replied honestly, stepping back from the bed.

He walked over to the window, and looked out. She saw his eyes widen, and his stiff shoulders loosen by a fraction.

"...So even the view is the same," he mumbled.

After another moment of silent staring, Draco turned his head and walked towards the bookshelf, trailing his fingers along the spines and pulled a few books out with a frown.

"I don't own this spell book," he lifted the text lightly. "And this one—and this… So the room provided them?"

Hermione nodded, still feeling a bit overwhelmed. The second she had registered the fact that she was standing in an exact replica of Draco's room, she didn't dare to touch anything. It felt incredibly personal.

"Do you like it?" she asked quietly.

He raised an eyebrow. "It's my room. Of course I like it."

Setting the books back, he dropped his bag at his desk and unceremoniously threw himself on the bed. Hermione jumped back in surprise, pushing herself further away from the left side of the room.

"I thought you were going to work?" she asked, trying to mask her sudden nervousness.

"I'm tired," he replied, his voice muffled by the pillow. "Make yourself scarce."

"Thanks," she mumbled, not sure whether she should feel hurt by the dismissal.

Hermione stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to convince herself that standing in a replica of Draco's room wasn't a big deal. She couldn't understand where the sudden feeling came from.

Taking a steadying breath, she took a grand survey of the room, finally noticing how utterly empty it seemed. She had imagined his room to look more overbearing, or something that indicated his spoiled way of growing up. Sure he had a walk-in closet or an entire wall of books to himself, but there was nothing to indicate that the room was his. No personal pictures, letters, paintings or even portraits decorated the cream colored walls. It made her feel rather sad at the prospect.

Shaking her head from such thoughts, Hermione turned her back and walked to the first place her eyes had set on—the books. She chose a few spines from the shelf with great envy, not sure whether he owned them or the room provided them. Either way, she didn't have this massive supply of books in her bedroom.

She glanced around the room in hesitation. There was his desk, but Hermione didn't feel right with the idea of using it, even if it wasn't being occupied. She had only given herself a leeway with the books; anything else was pushing her boundaries of comfort.

_I need a place to sit and read, _she thought.

To her delight, the room heard her pleas. A large brown chair that was padded in all the right areas had appeared in the corner of the room. She smiled and walked over, plopping in the cushion with a content sigh.

She risked a glance at the bed, thankful that Draco had turned over so she was facing his back. She took a moment to study him, peaking over the top of her book in case he flipped around without warning. He was positioned a bit awkwardly on the bed, his feet dangling off the side and both his hands threatening to pull him over the edge. His hair was slightly sprawled over the pillow, contrasting greatly with the dark color of the fabric. The slant in his shoulders moved in a steady, even rhythm, and she briefly wondered if he was sleeping. He did say he was tired after all.

Pursing her lips in thought, she forced herself to turn back to the book, feeling her mind spark with renewed interest.

After an hour of diligent reading had gone by, she glanced at her watch with disappointment. Her charms class had officially ended fifteen minutes ago, meaning dinner would be served soon. She shut the book softly and sulked; she didn't want to leave yet. Convincing herself that it was the books she wanted to read, Hermione pushed herself off her new favorite chair and returned the other books she had yet to look at.

Three deep exhales later; she walked over to the bed, feeling her heart pound against her ribs.

He really was sleeping.

A large part of her wanted to leave him to rest, he looked so peaceful. It wasn't everyday she got to see his face without his semi-permanent frown. It was nice.

_No. It was not nice._

She furiously shook her head, inwardly cursing. Ever since Ron made that absurd claim about Draco trying to get with her, she had been catching herself in strange thoughts. Looking at him again, she decided to concede. She had a feeling he would bombard her with foul obscenities the moment he woke up after missing dinner. Gathering all the Gryffindor courage she was supposed to be equipped with, she softy shook his shoulder.

"Draco."

His eyelashes momentarily pressed against his cheeks, then shot open, revealing slightly dazed grey eyes.

"Are you awake?" she titled her head. "Dinner's about to start in ten minutes."

He abruptly pushed himself off the bed into a sitting position. A look of surprise, then realization passed through his face as he turned to face her. Hermione stared back, musing over his rare show of vulnerability. And how the hell was his hair still perfect like that? It was infuriating.

"Why are you still here?" he mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

She snorted softly. "I was reading, of course."

He muttered something back that she didn't completely catch, but sounded suspiciously like 'insufferable know-it-all'.

"I'm going to head down for dinner," she declared, straightening her back. "You should hurry as well or you'll miss it."

He grunted in response.

Knowing that she wouldn't get a better reply from him, she sighed and grabbed her things, walking across the floor.

"Granger," he called. She whirled around as he gestured to the room. "This time—just this once though, don't get carried away—I'll accept your thanks."

Her eyes widened in surprise, then she beamed at him, unable to stop the smile from taking her lips. So she had made the right decision. Not trusting herself to say anything back, she simply nodded and reached for the door.

All the way down to the Great Hall, her stomach fluttered warmly, and her cheeks strained from her silly grin. Something was definitely wrong with her.

.

At the end of the week, Hermione was finally able to master the Protean Charm. She linked twenty-eight fake coins together, explaining to the whole group her idea and receiving nods and murmurs of approval.

The temperature dropped drastically near the arrival of the first Quidditch game, but Hermione paid no attention to it. After watching a game in her first year, she decided not to waste those hours watching another. Honestly, she couldn't understand why everyone was so hyped about watching others fly around hundreds of feet above ground, chasing after tiny balls that they couldn't even see from the stands. It was outright dangerous.

Ron was a nervous wreck at breakfast, and she felt briefly concerned for his well being when he denied the sausages Harry offered him.

He never denied more sausages.

After breakfast, she walked down with them to the pitch, cursing her forgetfulness to bring a scarf. The wind was kindly whipping up and ice storm, freezing her nose and the tips of her exposed fingers. She waved goodbye to Harry and Ron, wishing them good luck as they ran off with their brooms. Ginny, Neville and Dean followed soon after, climbing the stands for the Gryffindor House.

As Hermione trekked back up the castle, she spotted the Slytherin team walking down to the field. They were all snickering and pointing at something on their uniforms, then burst out laughing again. She automatically surveyed the group for Draco's blonde hair, but to her surprise, he wasn't there.

Watching them walk out of sight, she pursed her lips. Where had he gone?

Something warm and heavy suddenly fell on top of her head, draping around her neck and shoulders. Startled, she turned sharply on her heel, coming face to face with the blonde himself. His hand tossed the remaining material over her face, messily cocooning her head.

"Merlin, you scared me! What is this—" she glanced down at the thick scarf around her head and shoulders, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I'm not giving it to you," Draco sneered. "Just hold on to it."

She attempted to pull it off. "But—"

His hand stopped hers with a low growl. "It's a complete bother when I'm flying, and I don't feel like walking back to the dungeons to put it away."

"You—I'm not your personal coat hanger!" she said hotly, feeling her face flare. Why the hell was she blushing? "Why don't you give it to Crabbe or something?"

He snorted. "He's playing today. He and Goyle just got on the team."

Her eyes widened. She didn't think those two could even tell the difference between the head and the tail of a broom.

"Well, I won't even be watching the game," she argued, trying to decipher his expression. "I was heading back to the tower. Let Parkinson hold onto it for you."

He frowned. "Why go through the trouble of looking for her, when you, Granger, are right here?"

"But, you—"

"I digress," he interrupted, walking away from her. He shot her a critical look before turning on his heel. "It better be in perfect condition when I get back."

"_Malfoy_!" she yelled after him.

He didn't respond. Gripping his broom, he quickened his pace down the field, leaving Hermione alone, and utterly baffled at the situation.

A small smile took her lips and she glanced at scarf with narrowed eyes. It was a dark green, nearly black in color, with white rims on each end, riding down the length of the fabric. She adjusted it around her neck so it piled up to her face, allowing her to burry her frozen nose in the warm material.

Damn everything. It smelled like him too. She caught traces of his dark amber scent, and something suspiciously like green apples. Grumbling to herself, she sighed and turned around, setting her walk back towards the pitch. If she was going to act as his temporary scarf hanger, she had might as well watch the game.

Hermione was twenty yards from the field when she heard the singing. It was faint at first, but the closer she got, the words became clear to her ears.

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_

_He cannot block a single ring,_

_That's why Slytherins all sing:_

_Weasley is our King._

She groaned. She had a feeling this match wouldn't turn out well at all. Not bothering to climb the stands, she rested under the hood of a large tent, watching the game progress. Her neck strained from being on the ground, but she got the gist of the game. It was as she expected—Ron wasn't doing well.

_Weasley was born in a bin,_

_He always lets the Quaffle in,_

_Weasley will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our King._

She bit her lip angrily, listening to the offensive chants. She wanted to yell at Ron for letting the song get the best of him, but she doubted he would even feel convinced if he heard her.

The songs from the Slytherins grew louder and louder until she saw both Harry and Draco dive suddenly. Clutching her cold hands, Hermione held her breath as she zeroed in on them, flying after the golden snitch. For a moment, she thought Harry would lose, then they came neck to neck, and finally, after an agonizing second, Harry's hand closed around the golden snitch.

The moment of victory didn't last long.

She gasped as a bludger came flying and caught her best friend squarely in the back, causing Harry to tumble off his broom. Thankfully, he was low enough to the ground for him to be able to cushion his fall.

The next scene was chaos.

Whistles were blown; the crowd erupted with a mix of cheers and protests. Both teams mounted off their brooms and were openly snarling at each other. Draco was barking something at Harry and the twins, his face twisted into a sadistically amused expression. Hermione couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but she had a general idea. Both Fred and George were looking murderous at Draco.

Something in the boys snapped. Harry, Fred and George sprinted after the blonde, their hands balled up into fists, looking as if they were ready to murder someone. All three girls in the Gryffindor team grabbed Fred, barely holding him back, but Harry and George ran on, ignoring Angelina's cries.

Hermione didn't hesitate. She bolted form her position under the tent and ran into the field, her wand in her hand the next second.

"_Impedimenta_!"

Turquoise light burst from her wand tip and hurled itself at Harry, who was furthest ahead. Just before his fist was about to collide with Draco's stomach, he was blasted sideways by her spell, causing him to fly back and tumble on the grass unmoving. Another spell hit George a few seconds after. The crowd roared with outbursts again, but she tuned them out. All she could focus on was the scene before her.

Draco's head snapped to hers, and she could have sworn his eyes flashed with a look close to shame.

Before she could get to him, Harry threw himself onto his feet and snapped his head towards her.

"Hermione?" he yelled in shock, his face contorted in rage. "What are you _doing?_ You—"

"Me?" she yelled back, huffing from the sudden sprint. "What were _you_ thinking, Harry?! If I hadn't stopped you—"

"You shouldn't have!" he roared. "How could you! I—"

"Enough of this!" Madam Hooch yelled over them in a final tone, waving her wand in front of her. She looked livid. Hermione deduced she must have been the one who shot gown George. "I have never seen such outrageous behavior on my watch, Potter! Weasley! To your Head of House, _now_!"

Throwing a betrayed expression at her, Harry and George stalked off the field, clutching their brooms in anger. Fred threw his restrainers off and huffed furiously, marching towards the Gryffindor changing room. Angelina followed him, shaking her head, sounding desperate and pleading that this incident would be overlooked.

Sighing, Hermione turned her head around, glancing around the field. She watched with narrowed eyes as Umbridge followed Harry and George up to the castle. The Slytherin team were all walking back to their tent, some looking pleased, while the rest seemed angry about their loss. The students were pouring out of the stands, muttering to each other and shooting wary looks in her direction.

"Miss Granger," Madam Hooch turned to her. "I must thank you for your quick reaction. If you hadn't stopped Potter when you did, I'm afraid the situation may have turned much worse."

She nodded, feeling suddenly anxious. "I can only apologize for Harry's behavior. He's on the edge lately."

"Follow your House back," she recommended. "Maybe you can help ease Potter and Weasley's punishment."

Taking the professor's advice, she scampered through the crowd, weaving through the mass of Gryffindors until she met up with Ginny. She looked incredibly upset, yet nervous at the same time. Neville was rubbing his hands together and glancing around, and Hermione had neither the patience nor the means to try and calm either of them.

Dinner was a quiet exchange. A heavy atmosphere loomed over the Gryffindor table as most of the fifth years traded looks of worry, and chewed on their food in silence. Ron was nowhere to be seen. Hermione had lost track of her redheaded friend once the game finished. She could only hope he wasn't drowning himself in the Great Lake. She knew he had confidence issues, and there was no doubt the Slytherins' song had affected him greatly.

Once dinner was over and everyone settled back into the common room, Harry and George returned, looking even more enraged than before. He shot her a strange look before sighing.

"Look, Hermione—" he began. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, I—it was just—"

"Oh, it's fine Harry!" she cried crashing him in a tight hug, thankful that he wasn't mad at her anymore. "You're forgiven. I know you were just angry at whatever Malfoy said."

"No really—" he insisted as she let him go. "If you hadn't stopped me in time, I would have received a lifetime ban from Umbridge. Same with George and Fred."

Everyone in the room gasped.

"It's true," George said bitterly. "She walked into McGonagall's office saying the Ministry passed another educational degree giving her power over the punishments. She was originally going to ban us all for life—"

"But McGonagall insisted that since no actual harm was done, we've been given a weeks worth of detention and a ban for the rest of the year," Harry finished.

"Rest of the year?" Angelina screamed. "You must be joking."

They both shook their heads. "I'm sorry, it's true. There's nothing we can do about it."

"But why Fred too?" Alicia asked. "We held him back!"

Harry made an angry noise from the back of his throat. "Umbridge insisted that we had 'dangerous intents to harm other students' and included Fred as well. The evil hag—she wanted to get our entire team disbanded."

"No!" Angelina cried, looking devastated. "I already lost three players. Oh—this just can't be happening…"

She mumbled incoherently, shaking her head and excusing herself to her room. The other sixth and seventh year girls soon followed her, and eventually, the common room emptied out, leaving Hermione, Harry and a few others lounging around. No one else spoke. Hermione stood next to Harry, rubbing soothing circles in his back, hoping to ease some of his pent up frustration.

The rest of the night slipped by in silence.

Ron came in a few hours later, looking completely disheveled and barren. Hermione bit back her questions and her urge to shake him back to his senses, settling for staring out the window while he and Harry argued quietly. There was only so much she could even do for them now that one was banned and the other was convinced he should quit the team. Blasted Quidditch.

Inwardly sighing, Hermione gazed over the Forbidden Forest when she noticed a hazy disturbance in the flat darkness of the sky. The moment she saw smoke puffing from the gamekeeper's cabin, a smile reached her lips as she turned to both boys, cutting off their conversation with a hand.

"Hagrid's back!"

…

After promising Hagrid that they'd visit him again during the week, Hermione left his cozy cabin with Harry and Ron, unable to believe that they had nearly been caught by Umbridge this late into the night—it was as if the woman was following Harry. She would have surely wasted no time expelling them all.

As Harry and Ron talked quietly about Hagrid's dangerous mission with Madam Maxime, Hermione chewed on her lip in silence. Bloody giants. They had gone to persuade the giants not to join Voldemort, and to her horror, it seemed like they had failed. She quickly shivered as the memory of being attacked by a mountain troll in her first year resurfaced to the forefront of her mind. This didn't bode well for anyone.

Pausing her thoughts, Hermione gritted her chattering teeth and pulled her scarf tighter around her face. The invisibility cloak didn't do much to shelter them from the weather.

"You know, I haven't seen that before," Harry suddenly whispered, breaking her concentration on keeping up with their long strides. "Is it new?"

She turned to him. "Sorry—What is?"

"Your scarf," he pointed at it. "Did you forget our House given scarf?"

Hermione glanced down and forced herself not to react. She had completely forgotten about Draco's scarf. She had been so preoccupied with the whole Quidditch situation, returning it to him hadn't even crossed her mind.

"No, I still have that one," she said rather stiffly. "Er—my mum sent this to me the other week. She must have known it would get this cold."

"It looks kind of familiar though," Ron mumbled.

"Actually, you're right, it does," Harry agreed and stared at it harder.

It took every ounce of her self-control not to turn away. She laughed softly and shook her head.

"You probably saw something similar at Madam Malkin's," she quickly replied. "My mum can only shop in muggle stores after all."

They both nodded, seemingly losing interest in her new accessory.

After tiptoeing back to the Gryffindor tower and slipping through the Fat Lady's portrait, Hermione jumped into bed eagerly. She shed her outer robes and folded Draco's scarf neatly, placing it on the nightstand. Now that she thought about it, why hadn't he simply left it in the changing room? It was as if—Hermione viciously shook her head, refusing to continue that train of thought. She mentally squashed any trace of those ridiculous ideas and decided to return the garment tomorrow. She needed to have a talk with him anyway.

* * *

A/N: Good news for you all: my school quarter is officially over and I'm finally on break, which means more time to write! I get quite a number of asks regarding my updating schedule, and the answer is that it honestly varies each time. I write each chapter after the last update, so I don't have some stash of chapters waiting to be uploaded, just a basic outline of the fic itself. I mean, if I had the entire story written out already then there's no point of receiving reviews on what I can improve upon, or what you guys would like to see. Good stuff like that.

Anyway, with that said, I'd like to give my usual thank you to everyone for all your love and warm-hearted squishiness—I wouldn't be here without you. You guys make this journey so much more worthwhile. I'm really happy Draco's POV was so well received, and I'll definitely be adding more of his thoughts in the future chapters.

El


	14. Dueling Deal

Disclaimer: Yeah... I don't own HP... But I do own Faris! huhu.

* * *

Chapter 14: Dueling Deal

.

Hermione didn't get the chance to return the scarf, much less talk with Draco until the following week. She had gone down to Hagrids on Sunday, trying her best to persuade the gamekeeper to stay away from dangerous lessons that could potentially get him on probation by Umbridge. It was safe to say she returned without success.

She had tried to entice Draco into a conversation during Arithmancy, but the prat had refused to look at her, much less reply to what she was saying. Feeling disgruntled, she impatiently waited until Thursday arrived. After activating the Time Turner, she quickly scampered down to his Transfiguration class, feeling a sense of determination fill her. She would talk to him today for sure. She had carried his scarf in her book bag all week in hopes of returning it, but the right moment had never come.

Casting the disillusionment charm over her head, she watched the Slytherins trail out from class looking bleak. Hermione then remembered McGonagall had given them a forty-eight inch essay for the upcoming week.

She followed Draco as he separated from his group, having a vague idea of where he might be headed. When he had acknowledged her gratitude, Hermione understood it as his way of letting her know he was gratified with the knowledge of the Room of Requirement, and would undoubtedly use it as well. She didn't know if he had visited the Room other days during the week, but as he skipped the third floor stairwell that would have led to the library, her suspicions were confirmed.

Following as closely as she could dare, Hermione silently studied his posture and stride from behind, noting the unnatural tightness in his step and the stiff angle of his shoulders. She recalled his troubled expression from the week before, and knitted her eyebrows together in an attempt to make connections. Draco was still bothered by something, and she had not a single idea what it could be.

As they passed the familiar tapestry on the seventh floor, she watched him walk back and forth in front of the empty wall until the door appeared. Grasping the knob, he swung the door open and stepped inside.

Hermione stood at the end of the hallway, watching the door close. Should she follow him inside? Surely, it wouldn't be of surprise to him if she walked in since she was the one who showed him the room in the first place.

She needed to talk to him. And return his scarf.

Clutching her hands against her chest, Hermione took a steadying breath and decided to give him ten minutes of time to himself. It would also look terribly suspicious if she had walked in right after him.

When her accounted time was over, she walked over to the door with firm footsteps, removing the disillusionment charm with a wave of her wand. Another exhale later, she grabbed the cold knob and pushed it, stepping into the room.

She peered inside, glancing around until she spotted him by the bookshelves. "I thought I'd find you here."

He turned sharply, meeting her gaze with a fleeting look of surprise.

"And you couldn't leave me be in peace, could you?" he raised an eyebrow. "What is it now?"

Hermione snorted, closing the door behind her. "I _would_ have if I had known you were going to be a rude prick."

"You say that as if it's a surprise," he said dryly.

She brushed him off, reaching into her bag and pulling out his scarf.

"Here," she crossed the floor and handed it to him. "Sorry that I couldn't return it earlier. I had forgotten after the whole Quidditch incident."

He took it cautiously, as if he didn't want the garment back. "Leave it to Potter and Weasley to create a ruckus like that—"

"Don't you say that," she narrowed her eyes. "I don't know _what_ you said to them but you're not any less guilty than they are."

He scoffed. "Did you see me charging at them, Granger? Because I sure didn't."

"That's not what I'm saying," she argued. "I know your team had just lost so you had a right to feel angry—"

"I was not angry," he growled back.

"—So you felt the need to provoke them, but really—it's just a _game. _You'll get another chance."

He scowled. "If you think this is about losing, then you're wrong."

"Then what is it?" she asked, stepping closer to him. "You played well, isn't that the only thing that should matter? You boys are so focused on the results you forget why you picked up the broom in the first place."

"Don't give me that sentimental crap," he shook his head. "You just wouldn't understand."

She bit the inside of her cheek, making her to keep her temper in check. "Fine. Okay, but it doesn't change the fact that you were partially responsible for the skirmish last week."

"I don't care," he breathed, walking away from her.

Hermione crossed her arms, watching him walk down the rows of shelves. It was never her intention to cross words with him so harshly, but it always happened—as if it was one of the constant happenings of the universe. Fire would burn, water would be wet, and she and Draco would always quarrel.

She pursed her lips in his direction, her mind spinning in thought. He was obviously frustrated with losing, but there was something else that she was missing. He was visibly aggravated the last week she had brought him here, and it seemed as if he hadn't gotten any better. In fact, she could say that his mood had grown worse. She watched him flip through a few pages in a book, straining her mind for answers. It must have been some kind of outside source.

His father? It was highly possible.

Hermione tapped her fingers against her hips, and inwardly sighed. Was he feeling some sort of pressure from his family—or maybe from his House? She inwardly snorted. It was strange to think Draco Malfoy would be the one being pressured into anything, when she would have usually considered him being the bully to pressure others.

She stared harder at his face, studying for any other abnormalities. He looked slightly more pale than usual, and the corner of his lips and eyes were tight—very minuscule things. She wished he would just tell her what was going on so that he didn't snap at her or walk away, it was getting rather tiring. He obviously didn't seem to trust her enough, and there was the issue that the man had his pride, refusing to seek help or voice his concerns.

Damn Slytherins.

He shifted his weight, keeping his eyes on the book. "I know Gryffindors have no skills with subtlety, but you're outright terrible, Granger. Why are you staring?"

She ignored his taunt. "Draco, let's duel."

His head shot up. "Duel?"

"You heard me right," she crossed her arms in defiance. She was going to get to the bottom of his frustration. "Let's have a quick duel."

"And why would I exert any energy to do that?"

"Why would you refuse? Unless, of course, you've been losing your touch," she asked innocently. "I know you aren't satisfied with Umbridge's teaching either."

The book in his hand closed with a snap. His eyes seemed far sharper than before. "I assure you, that my skills have not been getting rusty."

"Then it's on," she challenged, matching his intensity.

_I need a room where we can practice. _She shut her eyes in concentration. After a moment of hesitation she asked again. _The room we use for D.A meetings._

If she had opened her eyes a second too late, Hermione would have missed the change. Her surroundings morphed, Draco's room disappeared, melting into the large D.A meeting place that she had grown to love the past few weeks.

The blonde turned sharply, glancing around the new room. His grey eyes narrowed with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Like it?" she smiled, walking to one of the mats. "Come on, it'll be a simple disarming duel."

His hand reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. "Don't regret this later."

Hermione mirrored his actions, feeling her blood rush. She didn't know how great of a dueler he was, but she had a good understanding that he wasn't another opponent like Ron. But she would be at an advantage here. He didn't know she had been practicing the spell to perfection during the D.A meetings. Surely, he would underestimate her.

"On my count after 3," she bowed and raised her wand, steeling her nerves. "One… Two…Three—"

"_Expelliarmus_!" they both yelled.

Red light filled her line of sight and her wand felt dangerously close to slipping out. She felt her hand grow hot with the power behind his spell. But true to her prediction, she had been faster.

Draco's wand flew out of his hand, clattering against the wooden bookshelves before falling to the floor. His head turned, eyes widened in disbelief, then slanted in irritation.

"You were saying?" she threw him a smirk.

"_Again_," he demanded angrily, picking up his wand.

Hermione's smirk fell. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She had originally decided to duel for him to let off some steam. It obviously worked wonders for Harry's temper. Had she miscalculated?

She nodded, gripping her wand tighter and raising it. "One… Two…Three—"

Red light flashed through the room again. Hermione's hand seared as she felt a small blast within her wand grip. The wooden stick was forcibly expelled from her hand as the spell caught her. She staggered back a small step, watching her wand fly back and hit the wall behind her.

His lips curved into the same smirk she had thrown at him. She growled under her breath, feeling a sudden wave of competitive spirit. Losing to Harry—she had come to accept it. But losing to Draco—that was a whole other issue. Maybe dueling wasn't a good idea after all, it seemed that neither of them were going to back down from this.

"Best out of three, then?" she picked up her wand, twisting it in her hand for a cleaner grip.

"You're going to lose either way," he shot back, his victory grin still plastered on his face.

She glared at him, raising her wand. "Don't be so sure. One… Two…Three—"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Hermione focused all her magic into the spell, moving her hand through the motions faster than she had ever done before. The crimson spell exploded from her wand and shot like lightning towards Draco.

With a sense of triumph, she saw his wand blast from his hand and fly towards her, hitting the wall behind her head with a loud clattering noise.

She blinked twice, adjusting her eyes after the bright flash and smiled at him.

"It's my win, Draco," she said at last, noticing the way his eye twitched in clear irritation.

"You were lucky Granger, don't get all high and mighty now."

She did her best not to look smug at her victory. "It's not luck. I'll have you know, I've been perfecting that spell for the past three weeks. It's only natural I've won."

"So in other words, you cheated," he accused with a soft snort.

"That was _not_ cheating, it's called preparation!"

He didn't look convinced. "Oh, which is why you chose to have a disarming duel. Of course."

She glared at his biting sarcasm. "Fine. Let's have a rematch next month."

"Whatever," he frowned, still obviously displeased with the outcome. "Now give my wand here."

Giving into his damaged ego, Hermione picked up his wand near her foot, feeling it momentarily buzz with magic. She shrugged off the sensation and walked it towards him, meeting his hard glare.

"So this is the room, then?" Draco asked as he swiped his wand from her hand.

Hermione looked up. "What do you mean?"

"The place Potter and his followers have secret meetings," he scoffed when she took a sharp breath. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't connect the two together?"

"No I…" she trailed off, not knowing how to follow up.

In hindsight, she had broken the D.A rules by informing someone outside of the list the location of their meetings. Not to mention she had brought him here for her own selfish purpose. A small voice of reason spoke in the back of her mind, reminding her that Draco was technically one of the first people she had told about creating the secret Defense class, back in Arithmancy.

"Yes," she said more firmly, feeling determined in her decision to trust him. "Yes it is. Since Umbridge refuses to let us actually practice magic, we've been holding quick classes here."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Say, why don't you join too?" she asked hopefully, although knowing that it was an absurd thing to suggest.

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger," he scowled; seemingly taken aback that she had actually asked such a question. "I wouldn't ever join Potter's fan club even if my life depended on it."

She shrugged. "What about your O.W.L's? Are you really going to take them without having done Defense spells all year?"

"Like I said, I don't need Potter's help to pass the test, especially if all you guys are doing is practicing Stunning spells—honestly."

"We've moved on," she insisted. "Harry was just trying to gauge everyone's skill level."

"I'm not joining your little groupie, and that's final," he said resolutely.

Hermione huffed. "Fine. Then how about we strike up a deal?"

"What exactly?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Since you're _so_ convinced you don't need the extra practice," she began, "when Harry finishes teaching us a new spell, let's duel it out like we did today. If you can successfully manage the spell better than I can, I'll leave you be. However, if I win the duel, I'm going to re-teach it to you the way Harry taught me."

"There is no way in hell I'm going to agree to that," he growled, frowning. "There's absolutely nothing in it for me—"

"Are you serious?" she interrupted, lowering her jaw. "I said I'll help you make the spell better! How is that not gaining anything? You're in a win-win situation no matter how I see it."

"Knowing that my spell wasn't good enough and having to learn from you isn't exactly what I'd call a win," he jeered.

"Then succeed," she replied simply, waving off his insult. "Since you're so sure of your skill, you don't need to worry about losing and learning from me, right?"

Draco growled lowly, staring at her with an irritated look in his eyes. Hermione gave him a smug look, then glanced at her wristwatch.

"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed. Her two hours were clearly up. "Dinner started ten minutes ago. Let's hurry, or we're going to miss it entirely!"

"Hold it, Granger—" he raised a hand but Hermione was already walking towards the door.

"I'm under the impression that you accepted my deal, so I'm heading down first," she grasped the doorknob, yanking it open with a tug.

"I never said—"

Hermione closed the door behind her in a rush of adrenaline, and broke out in a triumphant grin.

She began making her way to the Great Hall, feeling rather accomplished with herself. Draco had always walked away without letting her finish her sentence, so it felt damn good to do the same right back at him.

Her smirk fell when she remembered her desperate situation. With every day that passed, she knew she had less and less time to try and save him—to convince the Slytherin not to follow after his father's footsteps. The book Dumbledore had given her was still lying in her bag, waiting for a certain pair of grey eyes to read through it. In all honesty, she needed every second with him as possible, and the deal was only a means to an end.

She was sure that their relationship had changed since the beginning of last year when the mission first began. Draco would have never held a civil conversation with her like before, be in the same room as her, or lend her books, or willingly warn her and help her owl. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she thought of every side she had discovered in him. Things were changing, and the only thing Hermione could do at this point was to trudge forward and hope she would make it on time.

.

December rolled in rather slowly, but the amount homework seemed to double with the chilling weather. Hermione worked diligently, going to the library nearly every day in order to work without distractions. Even Prefect duties increased, forcing her and Ron to stroll through the halls late at night for hours upon end, only catching a few rule breakers from time to time.

She met up with Draco every week in the Room of Requirement, but kept the exchanges to a minimum when necessary. He never demanded that she let him be, so she continued to turn back the time, spending more hours with him as the weeks progressed. Knowing that he wasn't on borrowed time like she was, Hermione allowed him to work in peace while she pulled out a few books from his mass collection. She smiled when she discovered the books he had owled her over the summer, innocently sitting on the shelf.

Since the first match, Hermione had instigated multiple duels between them, ranging anywhere from petrifying each other, to seeing who could blow up the practice target first with a well-placed _reducto. _They had an impromptu duel with the silencing charm that had somehow ended with both of them silenced until dinner, unable to preform the counter spell nonverbally. They quickly agreed never to do that again.

After the last D.A meeting for the year had ended, Hermione waited in Gryffindor common room with Ron, waiting for Harry's return.

"Why did we leave Harry back there, again?" Ron grumbled, clearly confused that she had practically dragged him out by the ear.

"Just be patient, Ron," she replied with an eye roll. She was sure even a concussed troll would have noticed the atmosphere between Harry and Cho. What was she to say to the poor boy?

Hermione sighed and turned back to writing a long letter to Viktor. She had finally read the Bulgarian's letter and decided to give him her reply, going through nearly everything that had happened since. More than anything, Viktor was someone she could rely on and confide in for advice, not to mention it was absolutely fascinating to see the magical pictures he sent her of his travels.

Once her letter was finished and sealed, Harry was still dazed from being kissed, and Ron was ever so confused, Hermione made her way up the girls' dormitory, wondering if she should indeed write a book about female psychology.

Entering her room, she spotted Faris perched near the window eyeing her with a knowing look.

"Faris!" she greeted cheerfully, softly scratching his belly. "Yes, I have another letter for Viktor. If the weather's too harsh, it's okay to take a break. Honestly, I won't love you any less if you take a few more days than usual."

The owl stuck out its leg, still eyeing her. She was sure if owls could roll their eyes Faris would have done it plenty of times already.

After she secured the string and charmed the paper from damage, he jumped through the window, and soared out of sight. Hermione watched her feathery companion leave, and inwardly grumbled. What a prideful bird.

Draco's stubborn face momentarily flashed in her mind and she held back a frown. After passing by him once this past week, she knew immediately that something had happened. She furrowed her eyebrows in thought, trying to decipher that oddly blank expression he carried around since Sunday. She knew Draco was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but she was startled to see his eyes so void of all emotion, almost as if he had shut down his soul.

Shaking her head, Hermione closed the window and dragged herself towards the bed. She felt another headache approach as she pondered Draco's confusing behavior. Deciding to sleep away the worry, she cleaned herself up for the night and snuggled under the covers, ready to get a good night's rest.

She was denied the request.

Two hours past midnight, she felt small hands shake her softly, accompanied by incomprehensible mutterings. Quietly grunting, Hermione forced her heavy lids to open, barely making out a small figure in the darkness.

"Hermione…"

She immediately recognized Ginny's voice and pulled herself awake, slightly alarmed by her quivering voice. She reached for her wand, casting a _lumos._

"Ginny? What's wrong?" she asked urgently, sitting up in her bed.

"McGonagall just called me out with my brothers… She said… I think…" The redhead just shook her head and released a shaky breath.

"Ginny," Hermione placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to hold down her panic. "What did Professor McGonagall say?"

Her brown eyes closed for a moment before speaking. "She said someone was hurt—and I—I think it's serious—"

"Your father?" Hermione guessed, feeling more confused and anxious with every passing moment.

Ginny nodded in affirmative. "I—I just wanted to let you know—" she choked softly, "—in case…"

Not wasting another second, Hermione threw the blankets off her and gently wrapped an arm around the girl's shoulders.

"It'll be all right, I'm sure of it," she whispered, half-afraid they were going to be her famous last words. "Come on, I'll take you to the portrait."

Hermione slowly made her way down the stairs, making rhythmic circles in Ginny's back and whispering words of encouragement. For the brief second the Fat Lady's portrait was open, she saw Ron, Fred and George all standing outside in their sleepwear, clearly having heard the message. They all seemed to have come to the same conclusion of their injured father.

"I'll wait for you in the common room," she spoke softly to Ginny, giving her one last hug before she left.

After the portrait door shut, Hermione sighed and walked herself over to the sofa, determined to keep her promise. She wanted to follow after the Weasleys and figure out what had happened, but the stern look that McGonagall had given her was enough of a warning. Family came first.

She began to go through theory after theory on what had happened, but nothing seemed likely. She didn't know enough to make a solid assumption, and that grated at her heart more than anything.

Near sunrise, McGonagall walked in, clearly unsurprised to see her awake and waiting. Her Head of House briefly informed her that Mr. Weasley was injured but would live, and all the Weasleys including Harry had left for Grimmauld Place early.

So Harry was involved with this as well. Hermione had a disturbing suspicion it had something to do with his strange dreams and scar pains, but again, it wasn't enough to conclude everything together.

There were two more days until term was officially over and she would head home Friday afternoon to go on a skiing trip with her parents. Settling in her thoughts, she decided to tell her parents that she wasn't planning on going anymore. She quickly thought of a few excuses she could use to escape the trip, and have Dumbledore transport her to Grimmauld Place for Christmas break.

Hermione waved farewell to McGonagall and quickly snapped out of her broodings when she realized it was Thursday. Thursday was now officially known as 'Draco Day'. Hermione pursed her lips in thought and fiddled with the Time Turner under her robes. She briefly wondered where he would be over break, and decided that it wouldn't hurt to ask him.

After her final Charms class of the year ended in peace, Hermione twirled the magical necklace twice, closing her eyes as the familiar sensation of moving through time bubbled in her stomach. She felt utterly exhausted from staying awake since Ginny had come to her, and she lightly slapped her cheeks hoping it was enough—she had a mission to do now.

Instead of waiting at his class, Hermione headed straight towards the seventh floor, and into the Room of Requirement. They had created a silent routine between the two of them, and Draco had never objected when she came in every Thursday to work with him.

Muffling a yawn, Hermione glanced around the empty room, knowing that she had a good ten minutes before his class ended and he would arrive here. Or he wouldn't arrive at all. She knew there was always a chance he would spend time in the Slytherin Dungeons, or even go to the library, especially with his distant behavior all week.

Trying to keep herself awake, she grabbed a random book from the shelf and walked over to the padded chair the Room had provided for her on the very first day. She snuggled into the squishy cushions and cracked the book open, not even bothering to read the title.

Five sentences into the book, she felt her eyes droop. She had no idea what she had just read, but letting her eyes close seemed like quite a good idea.

No, no. She had to stay awake incase Draco came in.

But there was always the possibly that he wouldn't—it was the final week after all. He would probably spend that time in the Slytherin dungeons with his cronies.

Struggling with her inner turmoil, Hermione closed her eyes and conceded. It was only natural; she had barely two hours of sleep the night before. She adjusted her position in the chair so that she was curled up in the seat with her head leaning against the cushy armrest.

_I'll wake up in a second… _

_There's no rush anyway… _

_Just a minute…_

…

Hermione shuffled slightly, subconsciously stretching her legs against the warm material. She thought sleeping in the chair would feel rather uncomfortable, but it felt no different than a bed. She dug her face deeper into the soft pillow under her head, inhaling a familiar scent.

Her mind seemed to spark awake.

She pulled her heavy eyelids back, feeling a bit groggy but well rested. Her hand moved over the cool material she was lying on, and suddenly, she felt more alert than ever.

This wasn't the chair.

Bolting to a sitting position, she threw back the heavy blanket that was on top of her and scanned her surroundings as if she had been abducted.

"Are you awake now? Shame, for a joyous moment I had thought I would finally get some peace."

Hermione whipped her head towards his unmistakable voice. Draco was standing in front of the bookshelves, sliding a thick book back to its proper place. He was looking over his shoulder with the same blank expression she had seem him with earlier in the week.

She breathed a sigh of relief, dismissing the slight pang in her chest from his comment. He had sounded so… cold. There was something definitely off about his demeanor that made him appear so utterly lifeless.

"I'm awake," she rubbed her eyes, finally noticing her situation. "Wait a minute—I was in the chair… How did I…? "

The blonde raised an eyebrow. "You were there when I got here."

She scrunched her face in mild horror. Had she somehow sleepwalked herself to the bed? What a mortifying thought. "T-That's not possible. I swear… I was sitting in the chair—wait, the time!"

Lifting her wrist up, she nearly gasped in shock. No, no, no, no.

"It's 10:08," Draco inputted.

"Holy cow!" she jumped from the bed, frantically looking around the room as if she was a caged animal. She had been sleeping for nearly five hours! How on earth did this happen?

"What was that?" he tilted his head. "What kind of sacred cattle are you talking about?"

Hermione didn't even have the mind to correct him. She glanced out the large window above the desk, looking at it as if she had seen it for the first time. Bright sunlight poured through the clear glass as if it was still midday outside. She then remembered that time never changed in the Room of Requirement. It was always bright as sunny in the room, even though there might have been a snowstorm outside.

"Merlin, I can't believe I slept for so long," she mumbled. "I missed dinner—but what about Ginny—oh wait, she—"

"Granger, shut it," Draco said firmly. "You sound mad. I get that sleeping like a rock may not be normal for you—"

"Sleeping like a rock?" she interrupted, turning to him. "Does that mean you tried to wake me up? When did you get here anyway?"

"After dinner," he replied after a brief moment of hesitation. "And no, I dropped a book earlier but you didn't even move. I don't know why you'd think I'd bother to wake you."

Hermione groaned. It looked like she wasn't going to get any dinner tonight. And there was no way she was going into the kitchen to ask the elves. They needed a Christmas Break too!

Sheepishly straightening her robes and combing through her wild locks with her fingers, she walked over to the bed. She readjusted the blankets and puffed out the pillow again. The logical side of her brain told her that everything in the Room was conjured by the magic and technically nothing was Draco's, but she still couldn't dismiss the fact that she was standing in an exact replica of his room. Even the bed was his.

"Er—I'm sorry," she began. "I swear I was in the chair over there I didn't really intend to sleep here, I—er…"

"You don't need to deny it so hard when you were caught red handed," he snorted softy.

"I'm not!" she said hotly, feeling her face grow red. "I was woken up really early last night by Ginny, because…" she trailed off, unsure of how much she should tell him. It wasn't even her business after all.

Draco made a small noise from the back of his throat. "Granger, you seem to be under the misconception that I actually care why you were sleeping or what events occurred yesterday night, so let me say this simply: I do not."

Hermione held back a frown, trying not to feel hurt by his words. Why was she even feeling this? Had she somehow expected him to stop being his rude self because he had helped her from time to time?

"Right…" she said lamely, trying not to meet his eyes. Now that she got a good look at him, he looked even more exhausted than she was. His complexion looked chalky white, there were light blue and purple streaks under his eyes, his cheekbones seemed more pronounced, and the veins in his neck seemed to pop out at her. Throwing it all together with that ever blank face of his made her stomach burn with confusion and worry. Not wanting to receive another biting rejection, she held back her questions and nodded. "Sorry then. I'm going to head down."

Draco didn't say a word as he watched her grab her things hastily and pick them off the ground.

She headed to the door, and threw a hesitant glance over her shoulder. "Er—Goodnight."

Before she could embarrass herself even further, Hermione shut the door and began dashing back to the Gryffindor Tower. It was just her luck to have their last meeting before Christmas Break end up utterly mortifying for her. Just how had she sleepwalked from the chair to the bed? She was sure she had never sleepwalked before.

Running a hand through her hair, she sighed as she realized she had forgotten to ask about his break.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

A/N: Huge, HUGE thank you to _Rosie-Jess _for taking on the Beta job. Everyone go hug her because she's making your reading experience less cringe-worthy from typos.

Now to address a few things... Yes, I will steer from canon, but not yet. I'm going to start out with small changes and interruptions here and there—nothing plot-smashingly big. Keep in mind that I will stay true to the crucial events in canon, which means Sirius will still die, Draco will still be branded, Horcrux hunting will happen, and Harry will end victorious. Unless I'm feeling particularly morbid and want to twist this into some Shakespearean tragedy (I'll warn you if it happens), Draco and Hermione _will_ end up together in the end.

With that said, thank you as always to my readers—there are so many of you now it amazes me! You guys keep me writing even though it's difficult, and your reviews keep me smiling. Stay warm, and stay stress-free.

El


	15. Christmas Break

Disclaimer: I'm losing ideas on how to word this differently. And I can't be boring with my intros. Ah, well, still don't own HP.

* * *

Chapter 15: Christmas Break

.

The Friday morning before her departure, Hermione received a letter from Professor McGonagall, saying it was from the Headmaster.

Frowning, she took the letter with haste and unrolled the parchment in the confinements of her room. Dumbledore had explained everything that had happened to her best friends, and assured her that Mr. Weasley was in fact alive and recuperating in St. Mungo's. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as Hermione realized they were all doing okay. Her eyes trailed down to the bottom of the letter where he had written a short postscript.

_Mr. Potter has informed me of your trip over Christmas Break. I understand you may be feeling obligated to be at his side, but I will ask of you to keep your current plans as it is, and stay mindful of your surroundings. _

Hermione felt her heart constrict slightly. Why would Dumbledore deny her the chance to be at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron, and keep her skiing trip with her parents? Nothing seemed to make sense. Her mind began working through possible scenarios that Dumbledore might have foreseen to keep her original plans in place. Just what good would she do, all alone in a muggle skiing resort?

She released a confused huff and rolled up the letter again, tucking it away in her robes for safekeeping. There had to be an explanation of some sort. Hermione was never one to blindly follow orders, but she held great respect for the Headmaster, and she knew he only wished for Harry's safety. There had to be some logical reason that would surface after she returned.

Three days later, Hermione found herself bundled up in her winter clothes, sitting all alone in the skiing resort room her parents had booked for the next two weeks.

Two weeks! What on earth was she going to do until then? She had gone skiing with her parents the first day they came, but the activity had gotten old after a few hours. So she sat at the empty desk in their room, pulled out a spell book and began to read through the pages.

When the first week had droned by, she had gone through every book in her trunk. She grimaced, staring accusingly at the empty desk, wondering what she was supposed to do now. She disliked breaking rules or denying requests, but Hermione was honestly upset with her predicament in listening to Dumbledore's plea. She could be at Grimmauld Place right now, spending the days with Harry and Ron.

The door to her small cabin creaked open, revealing her mum, brushing away the wet strands of hair from her face.

"Hermione," Athena spoke in that motherly tone that she recognized immediately. "Are you really planning on staying inside for another week?"

"Mum, there's not much to do," she turned around. "And I was studying for my O. —"

"There are a lot of things to do! You haven't been to the resort spa yet, or the shopping center downtown. Not to mention you only went skiing with us the first day. Come on, dear, you have to get out from time to time."

Hermione sighed, knowing she wasn't going to let this go. "Okay, I'll take a hike nearby."

Her mum smiled. "That's more like it. I know your dad never says anything about it, but you need to see the sun more."

"Mum!"

"It was only a suggestion," the older woman pushed her coat in Hermione's hands. "Now off you go. I trust you won't get lost."

"Of course, not," she breathed. "I'll be back before sundown."

Hermione threw on her coat and shut the door behind her. She patted the inside of her shirt to make sure she still had her wand. After double-checking for their room key and some muggle cash, she began her walk down the hallway and out the resort building.

It wasn't snowing heavily, but the ground was covered in white. Everywhere she turned, she heard the giggles of small children with their parents, couples skiing together, and other rambunctious noises from the carefree muggles.

How nice would it be, she thought, to walk around like them without a care in the world? Muggles had no idea of the impending danger that they were in with Voldemort's return.

Deciding to head somewhere quiet, she stalked off towards the hills. She was positive that she wouldn't get lost and even if she did lose her way, she had her wand to point her back north towards the resort.

Hermione took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air that seemed to nearly numb her nose. She wrapped her scarf tighter and trudged through the snow, walking further away from the muggle-inhabited area. Their sounds began to slowly fade into the background as she increased the distance, until she heard nothing but the subtle wind and pine trees rustling against each other.

Hermione didn't know how far she had walked until the land began to look slightly different. There was steep hill ahead, and on top of it was a large gated cabin. Even from the distance she could tell that the wood was finely polished and well taken care of. It looked nearly as large as the skiing resort. Torches were hung on each wall, giving the place a warm glow.

Suspicion immediately filled her thoughts. Why hadn't she noticed the place before? Now that she got a closer look at it, the place was like a mansion. She couldn't have missed such a large cabin even in the distance. It was as if it appeared out of nowhere. Narrowing her eyes, Hermione cautiously began climbing the hill, a mixture of curiosity and boldness nipping at her heels.

When she neared the large cottage, she glanced around the area hoping to find traces of recent activity. Her intuition was screaming at her to stay alert, but she could find nothing that seemed oddly out of place. It looked completely normal.

Before she could react, Hermione felt something small and sharp stab into her back between her shoulder blades. She froze, recognizing the feeling. It was unmistakably a wand.

"Name yourself, intruding witch," a cold voice demanded. "Who are you and why are you here?"

Hermione's heart shot up in speed. She could feel every nerve in her body brace for some kind of impact. The voice was definitely female, but she didn't recognize it at all, and she didn't want to risk turning around to face whoever it was.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly, trying to stall for more thinking time.

This could be a dangerous situation. The woman behind her could have been Voldemort's follower of some sort. She didn't know what they would be doing all the way out here, but she couldn't take any chances.

"There's a muggle-repelling charm over this place," the voice answered. "I see you're in those degrading muggle clothes to blend in, but you could not have seen this place without having magical blood. Now answer me."

Hermione bit back a growl as she felt the woman push her wand deeper into her back. She needed to think. She had no idea where this woman stood with her beliefs. It could be a ministry worker for all she knew. Or it could be a Death Eater.

Taking a quiet breath, she kept her voice firm. "My identity is not important, but I mean you and your place no harm. I just stumbled across your residence from that muggle resort a few miles north."

The woman said nothing.

"I swear I didn't come here with malicious intents," she continued, trying to reason logically. "I'm sorry for intruding upon your place, but if you will let me leave in peace, I will do so."

For a moment, there was silence. Hermione felt the woman's wand leave her.

"Turn around," the woman demanded.

Gathering her courage, she spun on her heel coming face to face with her supposed captor. She saw surprise flash through the woman's light blue eyes. She was a few inches taller than Hermione, with long silky blonde hair framing her pale complexion. Her wand was still pointed at her, but lowered upon seeing her face.

"You're just a child," the woman finally said, narrowing her eyes.

There was something extremely familiar about her, but Hermione had no concerns about that now. She had been right. She didn't recognize the lady. She was sure the woman wasn't an enemy, but she could never be too sure.

"I'm a year from coming of age," Hermione retorted softy, slightly irritated that she had been called a child. "But I'm still in school if that's what you meant."

The blonde haired woman lowered her wand entirely. "It is not in my principles to attack students like this. I suppose I have been mistaken."

She released a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you, and again, I'm sorry for intruding. I was just curious of this place—"

"It is of no concern," she stored her wand away, gracefully shifting her hair back into place. "What is a young witch like yourself doing in a muggle resort?"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't know the identity of the woman, and wasn't sure how much to reveal.

"I needed a break from the wizarding world," she replied, meeting her blue eyes. They were nothing like Ron's bright honest color, but like ice, cold and calculating. "I decided that it wouldn't be a bad idea to try mixing in with muggles where I wouldn't run into anyone."

The woman considered her words. "I suppose we came for similar reasons then. Have you come alone?"

Hermione nodded. She still couldn't find herself to speak the truth. "My parents were not quite delighted with the idea of spending time here."

"Likewise," the older woman replied. "Being surrounded by those like muggles… Absurd."

Her first tightened. There was no mistaking it now. She knew immediately that it had been the right choice not to reveal anything about her. This woman wasn't an ally.

"I suppose you came without much of a choice then?" Hermione inquired.

The corner of the woman's lips tightened. "Unfortunately. It was requested by a friend of mine that I take some time off here as well. Although I am not alone in the matter as you are."

Hermione nodded, trying to sound supportive. "It must be nice to have family with you."

"Just my son," she corrected. A soft, yet prideful look passed her face before disappearing. "Although he has been less than pleasant company these days."

"Boys," she mumbled, as if that was the only thing she needed to say.

The woman looked at Hermione approvingly. "Indeed, being the only woman in the family has its drawbacks."

"They will come to appreciate what women do sooner or later," she smiled slightly.

"Well said," the blonde lady nodded. "Now I must be getting back to my business. Will you be all right heading up by yourself?"

Hermione nodded, feeling relieved that the conversation was over. "Yes, thank you. And again, I apologize for disturbing you."

"I admit it was my misunderstanding," she replied. "You best hurry or you'll be stuck in the storm."

She gave the lady a short nod before turning on her heel and walking down the steep hill. Her heart was still thudding against her ribs, threatening to break out. Hermione had no doubt in her mind that the meeting could have turned wrong at any second. She shouldn't have taken that chance to see the house.

It also would have been bad if she had accidently revealed her real name. She was sure after the whole ordeal with Skeeter's articles regarding her, Viktor, and Harry, everyone who read _Witch Weekly _would recognize her name upon hearing it.

Calming her jumpy nerves, Hermione tore through the snow quickly, eager to get back to the resort. She pulled out her wand a few times to point her north, and arrived at the skiing resort an hour faster than she had left.

.

On Christmas Eve, Hermione gave in to her mum's coercing and finally decided to head out to the shopping area. They were leaving tomorrow and it was inexcusable that she had yet to visit all the wondrous shops downtown.

Grumbling to herself, she followed her mum to the small high-speed rails that were used to transport people from the resort into downtown. There had at least be one good bookstore in that place or she was going to return with a wasted day.

She parted ways with her mum when they arrived, promising that she'd be back before sundown. Many shops were decorated with bright Christmas lights, filling her vision with flashes of green, red, and gold. After locating the directory, she skimmed through the dozens of stores, looking for a single bookstore that could have saved her from this tragic situation.

She located the store with a smile, and headed to the third floor. Now that it was so close to Christmas, every store was filled was chattering muggles, swerving from each other trying to get to their destination, and buying last minute presents. The bookstore was smaller than she hoped, but then again, she couldn't really be comparing anything to the Hogwarts' library.

After about a half-hour of looking, she picked out three books from the shelf, paid the cashier with muggle currency, and left the crowded place eagerly. She stopped by a coffee shop and bought a holiday drink, feeling slightly in a better mood after finding books to read.

Hermione checked her watch, noting that she still had a few hours before she was due back at the resort. She found a large chair and table near the balcony, and comfortably settled herself in the seat. Now this was somewhat of a better scenario than she imagined. Picking up the first book, she peeled the cover back and blocked out the world.

An hour into her reading, she heard soft footsteps approach her, but she kept her eyes down, not really interested in their company.

"Granger."

Hermione pulled her head up so fast, the back of her neck stung with the sudden strain.

There was simply no way.

But there he was.

"Draco?" she felt her jaw lower in shock. "I-Is that really you?"

True to her eyes, Draco Malfoy was standing a few feet to her right, his arms crossed and his face settled in an inscrutable expression. He was in a long black robe over the other layers of his clearly wizard style clothing, and a dark green scarf she recognized. Flecks of snow decorated his hair and shoulders, making it seem like he had just walked through the mountains.

"If my eyes aren't fooling me, neither are yours," he answered. "Stop gaping at me."

"Are you following me?" she blurted out immediately, still in shock.

He cringed. "Are you serious? That would be my question."

Hermione stood from her seat and reached out to pat his shoulder as if she was trying to touch something that was invisible.

"You're real," she mumbled, "or maybe a really good figment of my imagination. Yes, that sounds more likely—"

"You're not going crazy," he rolled his eyes. "Although when that day comes I wouldn't be surprised."

"But this is… a _muggle _place!" she retorted, as if the word itself was a sin to say.

He raised an eyebrow. "So I've seen."

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" she asked, feeling slightly dazed. "Are you sure you're not following me? I mean, what's the chance that I'd meet you here anyway—"

"My mother told me you were here," he said sharply.

"Very funny," she replied sarcastically. "Now what's the real reason?"

He frowned. "I said it. My mother told me. You met her three days ago."

"I didn't meet your mother!" she defended, confused that he sounded so serious about a joke. "I don't even know who she is or what she looks like!"

"From what she told me," he snorted, "she nearly cursed you thinking you were some prowler."

"Wha—"

It clicked.

Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth before she could gasp. She glanced at Draco, and then put everything together. So he _was_ telling the truth.

"That was _your _mother?" she spluttered, feeling overwhelmed for the second time within ten minutes.

He looked at her reproachfully. "Yes, apparently you were trespassing on our front yard—"

"I was not _trespassing_!" she shot back, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment. "I told her I was from the resort here and stumbled upon it while taking a hike!"

She blinked rapidly, trying to force back her utter shock at the situation. Fate was surely cruel.

"Now that I hear it, it seems far more likely that you followed me rather than the other way around." He lifted his chin slightly, a knowing smirk on his lips.

She huffed. "I didn't follow you! I didn't even know you were coming here."

"Then what are you doing here?" he titled his head. "Clearly, the chance of this happening without you instigating it is impossible."

"Look, for the last time, I didn't follow you," she said firmly. "My parents wanted to go on a skiing trip for Christmas Break, so here I am."

"Skiing?" he raised an eyebrow. "That idiotic thing muggles do by strapping boards to their feet and sliding down mountains?"

She crossed her arms, trying not to show her surprise that he knew what skiing was. "It's not idiotic, Draco. Skiing has been recognized as a competitive sport. There are loads of crazy stunts people do in actual tournaments. But never mind that—what are _you _doing here? Don't tell me you live down there."

He gave her a look as if she was crazy. "Of course not. My mother wanted to leave the Manor, so she dragged me along to that cottage. It's one of the places we own."

"Why near a _muggle_ resort though?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

He shrugged. "It's perfect for private lodging. With no wizards in the area, all you have to do is throw a muggle-repelling charm over it and no one sees us."

"Oh," she nodded. "What about your father?"

Draco's face darkened considerably. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Startled at the sudden venom in his voice, Hermione apologized quietly. Something was definitely going on. Determination rose in her chest as she considered her current situation.

"Well," she said softly, "then why did you come looking for me? In fact, I'm positive your mum didn't know who I was. We didn't exchange names."

He paused. "Don't flatter yourself, Granger. When I was informed of a strange bushy haired witch, trespassing on our yard, there are only so many people I could point to."

Hermione bit back her grumble at the trespassing comment. "I see… So you've been roaming around in here by yourself?"

"Not for long," he replied. "Being in a vicinity so close to muggles isn't exactly pleasing."

_Yet he did it anyway. _She was positive he was indeed looking for her, but the man just wouldn't admit it. And the question was _why. _Surely he wouldn't come down here to simply sate his curiosity.

"You know, you're standing out quite a bit with your robes and all. Don't you have any muggle clothing to wear?"

"No," he bit out, looking quite offended. "And I don't particularly care."

She considered the idea for the moment before a smile took her lips. This was the perfect opportunity. Maybe fate didn't hate her after all. She picked up her empty coffee cup, throwing it in the trash and set her new books back into the shopping bag.

"Let's go," she smiled, nearly skipping from the table.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion, following her. "Where?"

"Oh don't look like that," she chided. "We're going to find you some muggle clothing."

Draco frown deepened. "I think not."

"Why not?" she shrugged. "It's Christmas tomorrow. There are tons of sales going on."

"Incase you didn't figure it out," he said. "I don't carry muggle money on me."

Her smile grew even more. "Who said anything about you buying?"

"What?" he turned to face her. "Then you're—"

"Oh! That looks nice, come on—"

Grabbing the hem of his sleeves, she yanked him towards the store she was pointing at. They neared the glass frame and surveyed the black coat that was draped over the male mannequin.

"What do you think?" she turned to him.

"Granger, you are not buying me anything," he said firmly.

Her heart sank slightly at his refusal. She met his cold stare with matched intensity, unwilling to back down on her own side.

"Why not?" she asked again.

"Because I'm not going to be in debt to you of all people."

She sighed. "Well I'm not asking for anything in return. Take it as a Christmas gift from me."

"It doesn't matter," he retorted. "You're still giving me something."

"Draco, it's a _gift,_" she emphasized. "That means it's freely-given. There's no exchange going on here. No debt, no obligation and definitely nothing in return. Can't you just accept that? I consider you a friend, and it's an insult to me by not accepting my gift."

His mouth parted as if he was going to growl a threatening response at her, but he locked his jaw and pressed his lips into a tight line. "Sly witch. You know I'm practically going to wear it once."

"At least it'll be useful that one time you wear it," she countered, feeling relieved that he hadn't refused her again.

He sighed through his nose. "Whatever. Do what you want."

Hermione smiled in victory. "I will. Now will you actually look at the coat?"

He didn't even glance at the mannequin, "I don't like it." Draco spun on his heel and continued to walk down the brightly lit hallways.

She trailed after him without complaint, keeping an eye out for men's clothing stores. After rounding a corner, she spotted a familiar store next to a sweet shop.

"Let's try that one," she pointed to it.

Draco grunted softy in affirmative, walking beside her through the open doors. They were immediately met with high frequency music, and rows upon rows of shirts, pants, coats and all sorts of accessories.

She led him to the men's section and began looking through the winter collection. This was probably the only time in her life Hermione had wished she had paid more attention to when she shopped with her parents. She didn't really know what she was looking for.

Glancing over at Draco, she found him a few rows down with his hands shoved into his pockets, darting his eyes around rapidly to everything that was inside. He reminded her of a lost child in some way.

"Finding everything all right?"

She turned towards the voice, finding a male employee smiling at her warmly. She gave him a small smile in return, not sure whether or not to ask for help. Her mum had always warned her not to get carried away by the employees.

"I'm fine," she replied. "Just browsing."

"Of course," he nodded cheerfully. "We have our special Holiday sale section behind you, and our new arrivals, right over there. I'm sure I can find something fitting for a pretty gal like you."

Hermione bit her lip. "Thank you, but well I'm not shopping for myself—"

"Ah, the loved ones isn't it?" he winked at her. "Such a shame. You should consider treating yourself as well. I'm sure that green dress here would make you look absolutely stunning."

Now it made perfect sense as to why her mum had told her not to get swept by them. He grabbed the dress and held it up to her chest, an approving look on his face.

"Thanks," she said wearily, taking a slight step back. "But like I said, I'm not—Uaah!"

Hermione felt someone grab the hood of her jacket and suddenly yank her backwards, causing her to trip over her heel and tumble back. A pale hand grabbed her shoulder, steadying her fall. She inhaled his familiar scent before turning her head to see the culprit.

"We're leaving," Draco's voice met her ears. He sounded a lot closer than she had thought. Without another word, he walked on in the opposite direction, still gripping her hood.

She saw the employee's eyes widen in surprise as she was abruptly towed away, and a quiet 'oh my' escape his open mouth.

"Draco!" she struggled to follow him with coordinated steps. It was a lot harder when someone was pulling you from behind. "What are you doing?"

Once they had left the store, she felt his hand release her hood. Hermione spun on her heel to properly face the blonde.

"What in Merlin's name was that for?" she questioned, feeling her eyebrows furrow. "We hardly got to look at the clothes!"

A scowl marred his features as he shoved his hands back into the pockets and didn't reply. She glared at him hard.

Draco growled lowly and finally answered, "That guy was getting far too close to you, and you didn't even know him!"

She drew back her anger in surprise. That was not the answer she had been expecting. "That's the reason? He was just doing his job—"

"He could have attacked you!" he retorted.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Draco, you know as much as I do, how ridiculous that sounds."

He snorted "Fine, then don't blame me if you get carried off by some lunatic muggles."

She released a tired sigh, fighting the urge to punch him to his senses. "Muggles aren't brainless dogs, you know—now, come on—we're going to a different store. God forbid I go back in there."

Readjusting her pullover she blew stray strands of her hair from her face and set course down the hall. She heard Draco's footsteps right behind her, and kept her eyes peeled for other possible stores.

They passed by a few more promising places, but he didn't give much of a reaction to the available options. Hermione was determined to find something he would actually like, so she conceded to go elsewhere. She was so distracted on finding an appropriate store; she had turned around to find that Draco wasn't walking behind her anymore. Feeling slightly panicked, she darted her eyes around the immediate area and released a sigh of relief as she spotted his unmistakable blonde hair.

He was standing in front of the window, staring at one of the mannequins with an odd expression. She approached him quietly, following his line of sight. The female mannequin on the far left was wearing a cream colored sundress with small floral patterns decorating the ends. It looked incredibly lightweight and comfortable.

"Why are you looking at the dress?" she asked, peeking up behind him.

He turned sharply, his shoulder nearly colliding with her face. "I wasn't. I was looking at the stuff behind it."

Hermione strained her eyes to see in the rather dimly lit store, noticing the coats that hung there. "Do you want to go inside?"

"No," he shook his head. "Let's go."

Pursing her lips, Hermione inwardly shrugged and tailed after him. After another ten minutes of walking around, she found a smaller store and pointed to it. He barely nodded and followed her inside.

The moment she laid eyes on the coat hanging to her right, she knew it was the one. It was heather grey, a few shades darker than Draco's eyes, three large black buttons on each side, a pronounced collar, and a few zip-up pockets on the inside. It even had a removable hood.

Standing on her toes, she reached up and grabbed the coat from the metal bar, holding it up for him to see.

"I like this," she turned it around. "What do you think?"

He stared at it for a moment before replying, "it's all right."

She smiled. That was the best response she had gotten so far on this entire bloody shopping trip. Checking the tag to make sure it was a good size, she unbuttoned the front and slipped it off the hanger.

"Try it on," she encouraged, handing it to him.

He slowly grabbed the coat from her and shrugged off his outer robe. Hermione finally noticed he was wearing something similar to the Hogwarts uniform, a white button up with a jumper; the only thing missing was the tie. She grabbed his black robe and regarded his new outfit as he adjusted his scarf.

Blast it. He looked decent—more than decent. She was sure with a few tweaks here and there, he would standout more than blend in. It must be those damn aristocratic features of his, along with the fact that he carries a holier-than-thou aura with every step. Shaking herself from those thoughts, she brought her mind back to the current predicament.

"Well?" she raised a brow. "How does it feel?"

Draco raised his arms experimentally, bending his elbows and rolling his neck from side to side. "It's acceptable."

That meant good—or at least, better than bad. She had learned not to take his words as face value, and she was sure that the lack of strain between his brows meant that there was no problem with it.

After checking his reflection in the full body mirror, he shed the coat and stuck out his hand, waiting for her to return his robe.

"I don't think so," she took the coat from his hands and walked towards the cashier. "You're supposed to blend in, remember? No robes."

An irritated sigh escaped his lips as she set the coat on the counter with a triumphant smirk and paid for the expenses. She folded his robe neatly and placed it in the paper bag.

She removed all the tags and handed the coat back to him with a winning smile on her lips. "Your first muggle gift from me to you. Merry Christmas, Draco."

He rolled his eyes, but took it from her hands. "I'm telling you, this was completely unnecessary."

Hermione tuned his out complaints as he slipped back into the coat and nearly skipped through the halls. She didn't know why she felt so happy, but the warm feeling in her stomach had only seemed to increase since meeting him.

They wandered through the area for another half-hour before she glanced at her watch, sure enough, it was due time. She checked the directory to make sure she was headed the right way, following the small blue sign indicating a train.

"Oh man," she sighed, noticing the number of people as they approached the gate. "I hope the monorail isn't too crowded."

"The what?" Draco turned to her. "Where are you headed?"

She frowned. "We're going to the monorail, you know, the really short train you took to get here . . . You _did _take the rail right?"

A flash of confusion crossed his eyes. "Where does this go?"

"It transports people between the skiing resort and this downtown area," she explained, feeling equally confused. "Wait a minute, how did you get here?"

"I walked," he said simply.

"Walked?" she exclaimed, nearly crashing into a pillar. "That's got to be a few miles from your place!"

"Doesn't matter, I'll walk back."

"Oh, no you won't," Hermione grabbed his wrist and dragged him onto the platform. "I cannot believe you walked here! Anyway, this rail goes to the resort. It'll be better to walk from there."

His eyes narrowed. "Granger, I'm not going to ride this muggle contraption. What if it breaks down?"

"It won't. The Hogwarts Express is ten times more likely to spontaneously combust than this monorail breaking down," she countered. "Remember, muggles and their technology?"

"I would still rather walk than ride this thing filled with muggles."

She gave him a sharp glance. "Can't you trust me on this? I promise it won't be so bad."

"That's what you think—"

"Oh, come on. It's here." She tugged him along as the monorail halted in front of them.

Once the previous passengers all got off the rail, they trailed behind other people into the last compartment. All the seats were taken, and there were a few old ladies that looked ready to bite someone's head off for a chair.

Hermione's anxiety grew as a horde of younger kids on some kind of school trip came pouring into their compartment. She felt herself being shoved further back until she was facing Draco with less than a foot separating them. He had his shoulders pressed against the back door, his face contorted into an aggravated sneer.

"Won't be so bad, huh?" he glared daggers at her as the train lurched into motion, his grip tightening over the metal bar near him.

"I'm sorry, all right!" she called over the children's boisterous shouts. "This doesn't _usually _happen. It'll only be five minutes."

She felt bad. Honestly. Hermione knew that dragging him over a muggle inhabited area for a good amount of the day, then asking him to be jammed into a compartment with crazy muggle children wasn't doing any good for his perception of them. She inwardly sighed, feeling unnerved at how close they stood to each other.

The train then took a sharp right, and she heard multiple people be thrown off balance and someone crash into her from behind. She didn't even have time to yell in surprise as she was shoved forward against Draco. Her hands instinctively reached out for anything to stop her sudden lurch, which happened to be the blonde himself. She bit back a cry as she felt her forehead painfully bash into the window right next to his face.

"Ow! God dam—"

She felt him tense under her hands.

"Granger—stop—"

Hermione strained her neck and forced her head to turn to him and apologize, only to be met by the same course of action from Draco. In their proximity, she felt her lips collide against the corner of his slightly open mouth, and the tip of his sharp nose press against her cheek. Her eyes grew wide as she felt both their bodies stiffen at the contact. But she couldn't move. She couldn't even tear herself away in disgust.

She changed her mind. Fate was surely cruel.

* * *

A/N: Hm, yes, I know what you're going to say . . . I updated so quickly, didn't I?! Well believe it.

I sincerely didn't plan for this to happen, but it looks like this chapter and the Christmas spirit lined up quite nicely. So Happy Christmas/Holidays/New Years to all my lovely readers! Be happy, stay festive.

I don't have much to say for this note, but do leave me with your thoughts! I can already tell the next chapter will be quite... interesting. Heh.

El


	16. Blurring the Lines

Disclaimer: I don't own Blurred Lines, it actually belongs to Robin Thicke. Which I'm rather pleased with because I don't particularly like the song. Oh yeah, and I don't own Harry and his gang either. Although the latter is saddening.

* * *

Chapter 16: Blurring the Lines

.

Hermione was about to have a brain aneurysm.

She was presently sitting in the Knight Bus with Harry, nearly the entire Weasley family, and the advanced Auror squad of the Order, headed for Hogwarts for the new term.

It had nothing to do with the annoying fact that Ron kept tripping over his own feet each time the bus jerked, crashing into her, or the fact that everyone on the top deck was shooting wary glances at Harry. It didn't even have to do with the newfound knowledge of Neville's incapacitated parents, which was terribly tragic in itself, but could not come close to the reason why she was ready to shrivel up and die in a corner.

Memories of Christmas Eve came flooding back to her again. Hermione clutched her head and clamped her eyes shut; trying everything she could to forget what happened. To forget the way her body felt against his. And most definitely forget the feeling of his lips on hers.

_No, no, no, no. _

Hermione rocked back and forth in her seat, taking steadying breaths and focused on banishing the memory for life. It had been an accident. A cruel accident. After an eternity of being frozen in place, she had abruptly shoved herself off of him with mad apologies, and clamped her mouth in absolute horror.

He didn't say a word. His mouth was still slightly open, staring at her as if she had grown a second head. Her heart jammed in her throat as she dared to meet his gaze. He didn't even look angry, nor was he shouting obscenities at her, and that scared her more than anything.

After the rail had come to a full stop, she gave him a spluttered 'bye', and practically ran off the terminal, never looking back. How could she face him? How would she even pick up the conversation after that happened? Sure, if it had been Ron or Harry she would have apologized awkwardly but they would be able to pass it by like any other bump in the road.

But this was Draco Malfoy.

As accidental as it was, she couldn't just brush it off with a wave, hoping to get back to their previous topic. They were archenemies. Or at least, they once were. And she was sure he was still regarding her as 'something to be tolerated', not someone to have accidental kisses with, no matter how brief it was.

Hermione groaned quietly and leaned her head against her window. It was hopeless. He would probably kill her once she got to Hogwarts. She was sure everything she had built with him had been broken and he would now go enlist himself as Voldemort's follower. Dumbledore would no doubt be disappointed.

She didn't even remember getting off the Knight Bus or parting with the Aurors, but the next time Hermione was able to clear her head, she was standing in front of the oak gates with Harry, Ron, Ginny and the twins. Taking another breath, she grabbed her trunk and followed them inside the castle.

When the first day had gone by without any casualties, Hermione allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief. She had yet to encounter Draco in the corridors, and the new load of homework was putting her mind to work, distracting her from the impending doom that would happen on Thursday.

Harry had started Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape—much to his dismay, but the opportunity made her chest burn with envy. How useful would it be to not only block out invaders, and theoretically use the art to control her mind and her memories? She desperately felt in need of Occlumency at the moment. Deciding to try and teach herself later, she followed Harry and Ron to the Gryffindor Tower, dodging chattering the group of younger students with an irritated roll of her eyes.

The next morning, Hermione dropped her fork in her goblet of pumpkin juice while reading the Daily Prophet's newest headline:

_MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN._

No one else seemed to notice her clumsy action but Harry and Ron. Her shock worsened as she read through the death of Broderick Bode who had been strangled to death by Devil's Snare in St. Mungo's—on Christmas nonetheless!

"That's why he was happy last night!" Ron shoved his elbow at Harry. "Your dream! You said he was immensely happy about something!"

"_What_?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What dream?"

Harry shot Ron a dark look while the latter had the decency to look sorry.

"Nothing," Harry mumbled, still reading through the paper. "But look—Fudge is blaming this breakout on Sirius!"

Noting the change of topic, Hermione sighed through her nose. "Well what else is he going to say? That Professor Dumbledore was right all along?"

Harry chose not to grace her question with an answer.

Seeing that the conversation was over, Hermione went back to reading the article, and glared at the escaped Death Eaters through the newspaper. She felt anger strengthen her grip as she spotted multiple jabs against Harry and Dumbledore again.

This was enough. Something had to be done, and Hermione wasn't going to sit leisurely all morning while waiting for someone else to try. Trashing the paper, she stood from her seat and stuffed an apple into her bag for later.

"I'm leaving early," she said hurriedly. "I'm going to write a letter—I'll see you later!"

Without listening for their response, Hermione dashed from her seat and left through the double doors.

Setting her course towards the Gryffindor Tower, she dashed up seven flights of stairs and slipped through the Fat Lady's portrait in record time. When she arrived at her room, she went straight to her nightstand and picked up a small clear jar with a large beetle sitting inside. Making sure no one was around, she tapped the glass impatiently.

"Wake up," she tapped harder, watching the bug jump slightly.

She set the glass back down on the table and sat on her bed, crossing her arms. The beetle regarded her reproachfully.

"Listen well, Rita Skeeter," she began. "I have a deal for you, which regards your freedom from this jar."

The beetle's head flicked up, and Hermione knew she had her attention.

"Tap the glass once to indicate yes, tap twice for no. Got that?" The front most leg hit the glass once. "Good, now let me explain some things. There was a mass breakout from Azkaban yesterday night, leading ten former inmates to escape. A lot has happened since your capture, but the main point is that the Minister of Magic refuses to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned—as I'm sure you heard from your travels with me.

"I know you had a rather enjoyable time tearing at Harry's reputation all last year, and now I think it's time you fix that yourself. So here's my deal for you, I want you to interview Harry _honestly, _without any inputs of a quick-quotes quill, or your own exaggerated opinions."

The beetle didn't move.

Hermione raised her eyebrows slightly. "You're going to write the article under your name, and I'm going to send it to a publisher of my choice. If I find that your interview with Harry is _accurate, _like true journalism should be,I will keep my mouth shut about your animagus form, and give you your freedom."

She took a small breath. "It's a good deal for you, Skeeter, and I'm sure you don't want to be stuck in here for the rest of your life. Now I don't have all day. Yes or no?"

The brown insect crawled closer to the glass and lifted its leg, tapping it once.

Hermione smiled. "Good choice. I will let you out when I can get Harry to meet me for the interview, and the publisher to agree that they'll accept the article. It should only be a few weeks."

Pushing the jar from the edge of her nightstand, she stood from her bed and left the room. Scurrying down to the common room, she grabbed a blank sheet of parchment and a quill, and sat down at one of the empty desks.

The Daily Prophet wasn't a good choice. In fact, she could never consider sending anything there anymore, not with the Ministry 'cleaning out' what they thought wasn't good for the public to know. She then thought of the wizarding tabloid that Luna's father ran. Although they were a bit odd and posted articles about imaginary creatures, they didn't have a filter over what they published, which was exactly what Hermione needed.

Chewing her lip in thought, she wrote her letter to the editor, keeping the request concise and to the point. She would have to talk to Luna later in the day to make sure things were going to turn out all right. After triple checking the letter, she rolled up the parchment, sealed it with a stamp, and trekked up to the owlery. Faris had returned with Viktor's letter over break, and she had sent him ahead to rest with the others.

She spotted her owl immediately in the sea of brown and black and called for him to come down.

"Hey Faris," she greeted, tying the letter to his leg. "This is for Xenophilius Lovegood, he's the editor for the Quibbler. Wait for his reply, all right? And remember: come straight to my room when you fly back. I can't have you get caught by Filch or Umbridge."

She handed him a small treat before watching him take off into the cloudy sky. Hermione inhaled the crisp air and gazed down at the Forbidden Forest. Knowing she still had a lot to orchestrate before anything was set in stone, she turned on her heel and left the owlery.

.

The news of the escaped Death Eaters became a hot topic for the students in the next few days. To her expectations, Hagrid had been placed on probation by Umbridge, and was waving off the edge of being sacked for good. For the sake of keeping all four of them at school for as long as possible, the gamekeeper vehemently requested that she, Harry and Ron no longer visit him late at night in fear of being caught.

The only thing that seemed to keep her drifting mind in place was the constant stash of homework from the professors, and the restart of D.A. meetings. Harry had finally moved on from offensive spells and began teaching them shield charms. Hermione already had the theory memorized—as she was the one who forced Harry to relearn it in their fourth year—and was the first to master the defensive spell.

Thinking of the new mastery only reminded her of Draco and the dueling deal she had forced upon him to relearn his spells. She had regrettably left him to his own devices last week, unable to find the Gryffindor courage to talk to him. Hermione felt absolutely childish and irritated after that, knowing that she was letting something so trivial hinder her that much.

When the following Thursday arrived, she took three deep inhales and activated the Time Turner. It was shameful that she had abandoned her duty last week because of her own selfishness. She made her stance clear then and there, that Dumbledore had given her an important mission, and sabotaging it because of her own emotions was nothing but cowardly.

She shook her head as she arrived at Draco's Transfiguration class, filling herself with determination. She would apologize and make things right.

Hopefully.

As his class was released, Hermione followed him up to the Room of Requirement, repeating to herself that there wasn't a problem and he wasn't going to kill her. She kept a reasonable distance between them as they passed the sixth floor, and stopped at the end of the corridor behind the tapestry. Before he could grasp the door to the Room, she released the disillusionment charm and rounded the corner.

"Draco?"

Damn. Her voice had wavered slightly.

He turned his head sharply, meeting her eyes. "Granger."

For a moment, nothing was said. Hermione could literally feel the air between them tighten with uncomfortable tension. She knew an invisible line had been crossed over the break, and seeing him again made her stomach squirm. She needed to fix this.

Hermione swallowed her unease and slowly walked towards him. "I—er—I came first of all, to properly apologize… for dashing off—you know—near Christmas… and also for… before that…"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Before that?"

"I'm sorry," she said again, ignoring his line. Was he purposely trying to humiliate her? "I admit, I didn't think things through enough to realize how unsettling it might be for you to be in a crowded compartment with muggles."

"You know that's not what I'm referring to," he said bluntly.

She bit her lip, lowering her gaze. "All right, it—it was my misjudgment as well that we ended up in an… accidental kiss—"

"That was _not_ a kiss," he said quickly.

"Then what should I refer it as?" she frowned, feeling slightly frustrated. "A misfortunate lip-lock?"

"It wasn't anything close to—"

"My point exactly!" she interrupted, trying to end the topic of conversation as soon as possible. "Can you please overlook that awkward incident? I understand that you have a right to be mad, but I'm just requesting… that we both forget about it."

"And why should I do that?" he growled, seemingly upset.

_Why wouldn't you want to do that?_

"Because we're friends," she answered instead, feeling inadequate that she didn't have a better reply. "And I'd like to talk to you without feeling oddly uncomfortable because of accidents that were out of our control."

He scowled. "Granger, I have never asked, nor do I want to be friends with you."

"Then just me," she said feeling slightly hurt. She settled her face impassively, determined not to show how much his words affected her. "But I thought you were giving me a chance?"

He opened his mouth slightly to give his retort, but clamped it shut a second later.

Hermione kept her eyes on his face, studying his expression intently. She had learned long ago not to believe just his words.

His eyebrows were slightly furrowed down, and his lips tighter than usual, as if he was contemplating something difficult. She met eyes with him, taking in the stream of emotions he hid so expertly. He looked… restrained. There was something missing about his usual egotistical air that made her inwardly frown. He looked troubled.

Something between worry and curiosity filled her chest.

"Draco," she leaned a little closer, fighting off the urge to check his temperature with her hand. "Are you all right? You look a little… off."

He turned his eyes away and reached for the door, pushing it inside as he stepped in the Room. "I am perfectly fine."

The tension seemed to lessen. Thankful that the hardest part of the conversation was over, Hermione followed him inside.

She watched him drop his book bag on the floor and walk towards the desk. He definitely didn't look _fine._ Frowning, she studied his face again. She was sure even Ron would be able to tell something was different.

"You know… you can tell me if something's wrong. I may not be able to help you or understand, but I'm willing to listen."

He turned to her, looking deadly close to telling her something. As if some barrier locked in place, the expression disappeared.

"Granger, if I wanted someone to listen to my apparent problems that you seem to be insisting I have, I might as well talk to a wall. Just drop it."

She narrowed her eyes at him as he walked over to the bookshelves. Before he could grab a book, Hermione shut her eyes in concentration, inwardly pleading with the Room's magic to listen to her needs. Just as intended, Draco's room shifted away and was replaced by the D.A room.

Draco turned around with a glare, clearly upset that she had pulled that on him. "What are you doing?"

She crossed her arms, feeling resolved. If he wasn't going to talk to her, she might as well beat it out of him and let him lose some of the strange tension in the process. She was done getting pushed around by his dismissive behavior.

"What does it look like?" she raised an eyebrow. She gave him a smug smile and put her hands on her hips. "We're going to duel, I'm going win, and then you're going to learn the new spell I just mastered."

"And what's that? A stunner?" he sneered.

She shrugged. "No. Although you can try and shoot one at me to find out."

Draco whipped out his wand before she even finished her sentence, and pointed it at her with a resounding '_Stupefy!' _

She grabbed her wand as she saw red light burst towards her, and waved it instinctively with a sharp cry.

"_Protego!"_

A transparent blue shield erupted in front of her and rippled as the stunner ricocheted off the barrier and went flying into the adjacent wall, leaving behind a large scorch mark.

"A shield charm?" he lowered his arm. "Did you forget we learned that in our third year?"

"The theory yes," she agreed. "But we never got much application time with it. And apparently, most adult wizards can't even produce a fully functional shield charm. Harry taught it to us last week, and even Neville was able to get it down."

His eyes widened slightly. "You're telling me Longbottom can do this correctly?"

"Yes, in fact, I was the only person to master it before him," she revealed. "Now the question is, can you?"

He twirled his wand before gripping it tighter. "Why don't you try it?"

Clamping back a smile as the familiar dueling atmosphere returned, she cast a jelly-legs jinx at him with acute precision and force. Draco waved his wand; a blue shield rippled to life in front of him, blocking the spell.

"A jelly-legs, Granger?" he asked, dissipating the shield with a wave. "I'm offended."

She hid her surprise. "Believe it or not, but I was able to get Harry more than once with this spell when he was first learning the charm."

"And you thought of me as Potter's level, why?"

She paused. In actuality, she didn't know.

"All right, then." She nodded. "Let's duel this out, shall we?"

He raised his wand.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" she yelled first.

He was no slower. Moving his wand in a straight slash, he exclaimed, "_Protego!_"

Her body-binding curse bounced harmlessly off his shield and she jumped back to avoid the ricochet. Draco's wand dissipated the shield and whirled with a counter attack."_Everte Statum!"_

Hermione cast her shield blocking the orange light before moving to the side and casting her own counter-spell. "_Ventus!"_

A jet of spiraling wind erupted from her wand and flew forward at high speeds. Draco shielded himself expertly and pointed his wand at her.

"_Confundo!"_

She parried back strong charm, concentrating on keeping her shield steady and unbreakable. He was quite proficient with the shield charm—she'd give him that. But if there was one thing Hermione learned about his dueling style from all their previous confrontations, it was that Draco depended on speed. He liked to work in quick succession, using fast-paced spells instead of longer ones.

She needed a long-lasting spell that would break through his shield with continuous pressure. After dodging another stunner, she made her decision. Expertly twisting on her heel, she pointed her wand.

"_Aguamenti!" _

A powerful jet of water exploded towards him, and she saw Draco's eyes widen with alarm. He conjured his shield with remarkable speed, causing the water to ricochet to every side. When the water jet still continued, the shield flickered under the load.

This was it. She ceased the water flow with a flick of her wrist and made her next move. "_Expelliarmus!_"

The last bit of her advanced water spell plummeted through a weak area of Draco's shield, causing him to receive a face full of water, and distracted him enough for the disarming spell to fly through and knock the wand out of his hand.

As his wand flew sideways, Draco spluttered and staggered back a few steps, wiping his face. His head and upper torso were drenched by her spell, and his hair was dripping clean water. He glared at her.

Hermione huffed from all the magic use, and lowered her arm in triumph. She met his eyes and tried to hold back a sudden snicker. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hide her amused smile, hoped her shoulders weren't shaking with concealed laughter.

"What the bloody hell is so amusing?" he growled, catching his own breath.

"You—" she stifled another laugh before clearing her throat. "—You look like a sad puppy."

"A _what_? Granger, you—"

Her laugh cut him off. Clutching her stomach, Hermione didn't even bother to hide her amusement at his expense. Seeing him sopping wet and wide-eyed had immediately reminded her of those stereotypical lonely dogs in muggle films, drenched in the rain all by themselves. But the fact that it was Draco Malfoy giving off that impression was terribly ironic, it was too much.

Suddenly, she was hit by a blast of water, throwing her off balance causing her to unceremoniously fall on her end. She yelled in surprise, feeling the ice-cold element slap her back to her senses. She saw Draco with his wand pointed at her, a smirk plastered on his face.

"How do you know that?" she asked in confusion. "_Aguamenti_ is a sixth year spell."

"Yeah, well how do _you_?" he retorted.

Well. He had her there. She had learned the spell after reading how it conjured pure, _drinkable _water from her wand. How utterly convenient was that? Depending on her intention, the spell could be anything from a small stream, to a jet or a wave.

"For convenience," she said at last.

He snorted softly.

Feeling drenched to her bones, Hermione wiped her face, letting out another chuckle as the image of Draco as a sad dog branded itself in her mind. She was never going to forget this.

"I guess I kind of deserved this," she rubbed her eyes, still smiling. "But I still won the duel."

"Whatever," he grumbled in irritation. "You won't win next time."

She glanced at him, feeling a competitive spirit rise in her chest. "We'll see."

Draco didn't say another word. He pointed the wand at himself and began casting multiple drying charms. She watched with great envy, as his hair dried perfectly and still looked incredibly silky and flat.

Muttering to herself, she mirrored his actions, but left her hair still relatively damp. Trying to speed dry her hair through muggle or magical means resulted in a complete bush on her head—it never worked out. She combed through her long curls with slight hope, knowing that her hair was looking far less crazy these days. It seemed like the length was giving it extra weight.

After drying off, they dueled for a few more rounds once agreeing to use spells from fifth year and under. Hermione had to admit; she never understood the idea of magical exhaustion until she started battling Draco every other week. He kept up impressively well.

Tired, hungry and sore, she checked her watch once their last round had ended. She felt a twinge of disappointment settle in the pit of her stomach when she realized her two hours were up. But much to her relief, the unpleasant tension between them had finally dulled.

"It's nearly dinner," she piped up. "I'm going to head down."

He grunted in response.

Grabbing her things, she threw her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door.

"Granger," he called. She spun around, but he wasn't looking at her. "We still aren't friends."

She pursed her lips slightly, contemplating his words. "Then are we enemies?"

She saw his shoulders stiffen by a fraction. Silence settled in the air as he held back his answer. After a quiet exhale, he turned to face her. "No. We're not."

Hermione stared back. She didn't see a shred of uncertainty in his eyes. After giving him a thankful nod, she pulled the door open and stepped out of the Room of Requirement.

Safely shutting the door behind her, Hermione proceeded to skip down each hallway, grinning like a loon.

.

The remainder of January slipped through her fingers like sand. Hermione was studying every day for her upcoming OWLs, even though she had months left to prepare. Although, one can never start too early when studying is in regard.

She repeatedly asked Harry about his Occlumency lessons, trying to pick up Snape's instructions with hope that she could learn second hand. That attempt had gone rather terribly as Harry only mumbled about being forced to clear his mind of all emotion, having painful headaches, and then refused to talk anymore of that 'greasy git'.

The day she found out the library had no reference books of learning Occlumency, she gritted her teeth stubbornly, wanting to check the Restricted Section later in the night. It was only natural. If the subject wasn't explicitly taught, there would no need for the books to be out in the open.

After a bit of coaxing and vague explanations, she borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak for the night. Hermione couldn't describe why she wanted to learn Occlumency, but the branch of magic seemed absolutely fascinating to her. If there was a defense for the mind, it meant that there was an offense as well. The ability to look into someone's mind sounded too good to be true, which meant the difficulty of learning would be no simple task. It was a challenge she couldn't help but take on.

An hour after the library had closed; she grabbed the cloak from her bed and quietly left the Gryffindor Tower. The halls were eerily empty and dark, but she knew better than to create light. Filch could be anywhere.

Hermione had the castle's hallways drilled into the back of her mind from all the Prefect patrols; she had no trouble finding the shortest route to the library.

Reaching for her wand, she tapped the handle.

"_Alohomora." _

The large door creaked inward, allowing her entrance. She glanced around the immediate vicinity, making sure there wasn't another soul inside before shutting the door and moving in. She quickly jumped over the rope and walked into the Restricted Section.

"_Lumos."_

There were shelves upon shelves of books that she had a morbid curiosity to look through, but she shook her head and kept moving on. After a few minutes of scanning the spines, she stopped at a smaller shelf and moved her eyes down the rows. At the far bottom were a few books that caught her attention. She adjusted the cloak around her and sat down, pulling out the thickest book in the bunch.

_Art of the Mind: Occlumency and Legilimency_

Triumph filled her chest. She glanced around the area again before pulling back the worn cover and reading through the table of contents. Her heart beat with excitement.

Keeping her wand steady_, _Hermione dimmed the light as much as possible and held it over the printed words. Quietly flipping through the beginning pages, she settled on the first chapter and tuned the world out.

After reading through the first quarter of the book, Hermione stretched out her sore back and neck, thankful that it was the weekend. Deciding to come back tomorrow and finish the book, she silently shut the text and returned it to its original spot. With another stretch, she adjusted the cloak and left the Restricted Section.

It took her a few wary minutes to get back to the Tower, and she glanced around the empty hall before waking the Fat Lady up.

"Whaaiz it?" the portrait grumbled, half-asleep.

"Coup d'état," she whispered.

The Fat Lady woke up fully and glowered at her. "Dear, do you _know _what time it is? I need my beauty sleep!"

"I'm sorry," she fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Coup d'état. Could you please let me in?"

"Well," she said, swinging her portrait open. "I hope someone wakes _you_ up in such ungodly hours!"

Hermione walked in and shook her head. If it weren't for the fact that she had just read a wondrous amount of information on Occlumency, she would have bantered with the Fat Lady more. She crept up the stairs and slipped into her room in silent victory.

It was time to empty her mind.

A week later, Hermione received a reply from Luna's father. He had been more than happy to accept the article and print it without any changes. Feeling ecstatic, she formulated the plan in her head, down to every detail possible. She knew having the conversation on Hogwarts grounds would be impossible but also stupid, so she would have to wait until the next Hogsmeade trip. Thankfully, the visit fell on Valentine's Day, which was only another week away.

The morning of the fourteenth, Hermione asked Harry to meet her at Three Broomsticks, and even asked Luna to accompany her to the meeting. It would be good for her to hear just what was being printed in her father's magazine.

She ate her breakfast with suppressed anticipation, when a flurry of owls came flying through the open windows of the Great Hall. Hermione glanced up as she noticed a familiar owl fly towards her. The brown bird nearly landed on her plate of eggs, causing the package it was carrying to hit the table with a low 'thunk'. Curious, she untied the small box and grabbed the accompanying letter, giving the owl a piece of her bread before it took off once more. It was Viktor's owl, she was sure of it, but she hadn't even sent her reply letter to the last one. Just what had he sent her?

Hermione unwrapped the box with delicate fingers, unsure of what it would entail. Turning the box over, she felt a cold ball drop into the palm of her hand. Surprised, she stared at the gift. A small glass sphere, about the size of a muggle baseball, had a red Azalea in full bloom incased in the middle of it. Awed by the beautiful object, she twirled it around in her hands, looking for how it was made. The glass felt smooth, almost like stone—in fact, she didn't know for sure if it was glass or not.

"Ah! Hermione! What _is_ that?"

Parvati was looking at her with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape. Lavender, who was sitting next to her soon turned at her best friend's voice. She too, grew wide-eyed.

"Nothing," Hermione replied, trying not to groan. "It's just a gift from a friend."

"Just a gift?" the Indian witch shrieked. "_That, _Hermione, is no simple gift! Just look at it! Oh, it's so beautiful…"

"Who is it from?" Lavender leaned towards her. "You never told us you have a boyfriend!"

"I don't—"

"Yeah!" Parvati agreed. "How could you keep us in the dark about this? We're your roommates."

Two seats to her right, Ron choked on his drink. Harry was now looking at her with mild interest.

"I'm telling you," she pressed. "This isn't from my—"

"Boyfriend?" Ron spluttered, his eyebrows near his hairline. "Hermione, is this true? Who's your boyfriend? How come Harry and I didn't know about this? Unless mate, you knew?"

Harry shook his head. A flash of irritation ran across Ron's face.

"What did he get you? Lemme see that—"

He reached over and nearly grabbed the delicate sphere from her hands. Hermione stood abruptly, pulling her hands in the air, away from his reach.

"You can't just grab it, Ron!" she hissed, swatting him away with her free hand.

"Yeah!" Parvati interfered. "It's from her boyfriend; you can't just take it like that."

"No, Parvati, I meant—"

"Oh, I see how it is," Ron spat, clearly upset. "You won't even let me see the precious thing will you? I know who it's from! It's that Ravenclaw guy isn't it? I always see you glance over at their table!"

It took a moment for Hermione to realize he was talking about Draco. Or at least his suspicious idea about her mysterious book trading friend, which was clearly off the mark. She noticed a few fifth year Ravenclaws were now looking in their direction.

"Guys, please," she addressed lowly. "Just stop it, all right? You're making a scene. And for the last time, this isn't from my boyfriend."

No one seemed to believe her.

"Ah, I wish I had a boyfriend who would send me things like that," Lavender mumbled dreamily.

"Ravenclaw though," Parvati sighed too. "I guess there's some romantic guys there…"

Ron's shoulders slouched in a clear sulking position and Hermione knew the situation was already out of her hands. She had a feeling saying the gift was from Viktor would make it even worse now. Feeling her appetite gone, she placed the letter and the accompanying gift into her bag, and swung the strap over her shoulder. Frowning at everyone at the table, she reminded Harry of their meeting later at Three Broomsticks before turning her head and stalking out the Great Hall.

Hermione could only pray those gossip queens will keep quiet for once—just this once.

Her plea wasn't answered.

* * *

A/N: Fear not my lovely readers, the romance will happen _very_ soon - which accurately translates into 'a few chapters more'.

On the other hand, I am real happy with all of your feedback so far! Thanks to the reviewers who helped me see inconsistencies in the earlier chapters, and those who are being patient with mistakes. I know it's been a while since I've updated - I'll try to get back on track. I've been in school for the past two weeks, and dying of the flu just last week, so time wasn't quite on my side.

Final note: An Azalea means "take care of yourself". (:  
Leave me with your thoughts!

El


	17. If I Lose Myself

Disclaimer: Don't own HP as usual. Nor OneRepublic's song. Though I do recommend listening to it as it is a damn good song. And brace yourselves... this is an intense, bumpy chapter.

* * *

Chapter 17: If I Lose Myself

.

Her plan had gone wonderfully.

After Skeeter's article had been published, Harry received dozens of response letters the following morning. Most of them said he was barking mad, but he had managed to convince a small majority.

Much to her glee, _The Quibbler _had been banished from Hogwarts by Umbridge, and any student caught with the magazine would be expelled. Hermione smiled every time she saw the magazine, knowing that Umbridge's new decree did nothing to stop the students _or_ staff. She watched Harry's mood brighten more throughout the day as others came up to him and expressed their belief in his story.

Her self-taught Occlumency and Legilimency sessions were going reasonably well. She knew organization was always one of her strong points, and along with the ability to think logically rather than emotionally, she was growing more confident by day, though she had a glum feeling that Harry's training with Snape wasn't going as well as he claimed. For one thing, Harry relied on his emotions far more than she did. He let anger and frustration get the best of him—especially since summer, and the ability to completely clear one's mind was a skill that required silent concentration, something that Harry didn't even like.

Of course, her self-lessons weren't coming without a price. Hermione had been getting grueling headaches for keeping up her mental shields all day. She was trying to keep them standing with mere reflex and practice, but the goal was much further back than she thought. She knew her skills were growing, but with the absence of another person trying to break into her mind, there was only so much she could do by herself.

Just as she was cleaning her supplies after a session of Double Potions, Snape stalked up behind her and gave her an unreadable look.

"Miss Granger, stay behind."

Harry and Ron both looked at her in confusion, but she shook her head and shrugged, not sure what he wanted as well. After assuring them that she hadn't done anything wrong, she walked up to Snape's desk as the last person left the room. She heard a small voice of reassurance in her head, reminding herself that Snape was an Order member. She had seen him at Grimmauld Place over the summer.

For a moment, Snape said nothing. He just stared at her from his desk, and Hermione stared back.

That was when she felt it; a very small probing in her mind that she swore wasn't there before. Feeling alarmed, she broke eye contact with him and forced herself to empty her thoughts.

Snape made a quiet noise, "Tell me, Miss Granger, who taught you to shield your mind? Surely, Potter isn't the one."

Hermione swallowed back her sudden nervousness. Harry had told her that Professor Snape was not only an accomplished Occlumens, but also a Legilimens.

"Myself, sir," she answered honestly. "After I was told Harry was to receive Occlumency lessons from you, I wanted to research the branch of magic myself."

His left eyebrow grew higher by a fraction. "So you broke into the Restricted Section to read upon those books?"

She bit back a grumbling sigh. "… Yes, sir."

For another moment, Snape was silent. He regarded her with sharp black eyes, but there was something there that convinced her he wasn't going to reprimand her.

"Sir, if I may inquire," she began. "If you can enter one's mind as subtly as you did just before, why do you use such force on Harry?"

He sneered. "Miss Granger, do you think the Dark Lord will give Potter a nice greeting? A weak intrusion, perhaps? Because if so, I must shatter your flimsy hope—The Dark Lord will do no such thing. He will forcibly break through any barriers without restraint, and Potter is certainly not an exception."

"I see," she replied quietly, not satisfied with his answer but understanding. "Then would you teach me as well? I'm sure Harry is having a hard time learning because of his misguided anger towards you, if I was better, I could—"

Snape scowled, "No, I do not have time to teach you anymore than I have time for Potter."

Disappointment settled in her stomach, "Of course, sir."

Snape gave her a critical look before opening his mouth again, "However, there is… someone else. It is my understanding that you have been seeing him from time to time."

"I'm sorry, sir, who?" She furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Now leave, Miss Granger," he shooed her with his hand. "I have wasted enough time."

"But sir, I don't know who you're—"

"Out!" he yelled.

Hermione scurried off immediately, recognizing the final tone in his voice. Just what on earth was he talking about? She swung open the large oak door and stepped out of the room, feeling slightly shaken.

"What did the git want?" Ron approached her, looking curious.

"Nothing," she shrugged. "He just talked to me about the essay we turned in last week."

"Oh," the redhead said, seemingly disappointed. "I was sure he was trying to kill you in secret…"

She rolled her eyes at him. He was never going to give up on the theory that Professor Snape was secretly bad—Order member or not.

Hermione followed Harry and Ron back to the Gryffindor Tower, contemplating Snape's words. Someone else can help her? He had said 'him' so that narrowed the list down by half. She thought of Harry, but rejected the thought. According to Snape, Harry wasn't doing well. Also, he had said 'seeing from time to time', and she saw Harry every day.

Professor Dumbledore then? The Headmaster was the one who wanted Harry to start Occlumency in the first place, which meant he had to have been an Occlumens himself or at least held decent knowledge of it.

She shook her head. That didn't make sense. If Dumbledore didn't have time to teach Harry personally—who quite frankly needed it more—there was no way he would have time to teach her. Maybe it was a different male professor.

Hermione sulked as she entered the Gryffindor Tower, still confused about Snape's words. Maybe he wasn't being literal? No, that was just absurd. He had mentioned another person who could possibly help her; there was no way he was being figurative about it.

Draco then came to mind.

That was another impossibility. Snape couldn't even have known that she was meeting him once a week. Dumbledore hadn't informed anyone else of her mission—as far as she knew, and she had a feeling Draco hadn't said anything either. Besides, how would he help her with Occlumency when he, himself didn't know it? It was a rare and difficult skill after all.

Something in her mind clicked in place and she stopped in the middle of the stairwell.

Snape was a Legilimens. It wouldn't be surprising if he saw their meetings either through her or Draco, without either of them being the wiser.

She felt herself gasp with a mixture of horror and enlightenment at the prospect. But that still didn't explain how Draco learned Occlumency if he was the 'helper' Snape was talking about. Or maybe…

Her mind whirled in all directions. She felt resolution rise in her chest as she thought about the blonde. Ever since the beginning of the year, he had looked especially troubled. And that feeling seemed to have gotten ten times worse after Christmas Break. Hermione had first assumed it was because of their little incident in the monorail, but she ruled the possibly out. There was something bigger going on for sure and she was determined to find out what it was.

She needed to test him. She could hit two birds with one stone, but if she assumed wrong . . .

Her plan was risky. Things could go wrong very quickly. But then again, Draco was a wild card. She couldn't play by the rules when he was in regard.

Letting her ideas unfold, Hermione continued up the stairs in deep thought. Thursday would be an interesting day.

.

Draco was seething.

She had found him inside the Room of Requirement, a menacing scowl on his face, pacing around the room like a caged animal.

He looked up the moment she walked in, and his dark expression deepened.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he asked sharply.

Startled by his tone, she cautiously shut the door and walked towards him, "What do you mean?"

"Potter's article," he snarled. "I know he's far too dimwitted to pull a stunt like that. It was your idea wasn't it?"

"Is that why you're upset?" she asked quietly, remembering that his father had been called out as a Death Eater, along with a few other Slytherins.

He didn't answer, and something told her that wasn't the real reason. She frowned at him, trying to decipher that impenetrable mask of his.

"Draco…" she said slowly. "Yes, I admit. It was my idea. Are you angry at me?"

He made a guttural sound and turned his head, still not giving her his answer.

Hermione gave him two minutes of silence to give her a reply, but he remained to himself, clenching his jaw in obvious anger. Feeling incredibly frustrated, she marched up to him, and grabbed his face between her hands.

"Talk to me! If you're angry, then say you're angry!" she demanded, her face merely inches away from his. "Just tell me what's bothering you!"

Surprise widened his eyes before another scowl reappeared. That restrained look flashed across his face. "Granger. Let go."

Feeling hurt by his rejection yet again, she whipped out her wand with trained movement, keeping her eyes locked with his.

"_Legilimens!"_

Suddenly the room disappeared. Hermione felt as if she was being sucked into space, like she was being taken along in side along apparition. Foreign memories were playing out in front of her.

Draco was standing in an empty classroom with Snape. A mixture of horror and fear ran through her, and she knew she was feeling what he felt at that time. She had read about this. The book had said she would often feel the emotions of the subject when Legilimency was performed.

Memory Snape looked at Draco briefly before saying, 'I will teach you Occlumency so that you can guard your mind. You cannot let them know about this.'

The scene suddenly shifted and she was facing a woman. There was something terribly familiar about her that sent shivers down Hermione's back. The woman had long black hair, heavily hooded eyes, and her lips twisted into a wild grin. She would have been considered pretty, beautiful even, if it weren't for the fact that she appeared to have just returned from death's door. A high-pitched cackle erupted from her lips as she approached.

'Draco, isn't it?' the woman cocked her head. 'It's been so long…'

Before she could see anything else, the images disappeared. Nothing was moving around her anymore. There was a sharp pain in her head as she felt herself being forcibly blocked and thrown out of Draco's mind. So he does know Occlumency. With a suppressed cry, Hermione pulled her spell back and refocused her eyes.

Draco's room came crashing back in a blurry motion, but all she could see were his ice-cold eyes, wide but brimming with anger and mortification.

He ripped her hands off his face and took a few steps back, "How dare you… invade my mind like that!?"

Recovering from her shock, she turned to look at him. "Well if you had just told me what was wrong, I wouldn't have had to! Since when were you learning Occlumency? And that woman—"

"Shut it, Granger!" he yelled, looking outraged. "Do you have any idea what you've just _done_?"

"Then tell me!" she yelled back, tightening her fists in anger. "You always do this, you know that? You're upset or bothered by something but you don't say a bloody thing! Do you know how utterly frustrating that is? I always—"

"Do you have a death wish?" he demanded. "You can't do a damn thing! Why must you insist on me blabbing away—"

"Because—I—want—to—help—you!" she stressed each word, stepping towards him.

"Well I don't want your damn help! Why is that so hard to get through that thick skull of yours?"

"Well you need it! Just stop pulling away from me!" she pleaded, sounding aghast. She reached over to his arm but he yanked it out of her reach.

"Granger, stop! You don't understand anything!" he yelled, looking as if he was going to snap at any moment and hit something. "Mind your own—"

"Then tell me so I can understand!" she yelled back. "For Merlin's sake, I—"

"I CAN'T PROTECT YOU IF I TELL YOU EVERYTHING!"

Hermione stopped mid-breath. A look of instant regret passed through Draco's eyes. Feeling a wave of utter confusion pass through her, she completely forgot her next point of argument.

"…What?" she blurted instead.

He took a few ragged breaths, and then turned to face her. "You can't do anything for me. I know what you're trying to do, but you can't. Give it up already."

She slowly shook her head, unable to find a proper response. Every breath felt heavy and painful.

"Draco…"

"So just stop here," he said through his teeth. "You've done enough."

For a moment, they both stood there, silence gripping the air. After what seemed like an eternity of staring, Draco sighed, muttered something under his breath and started walking towards the door. The moment he passed her, she felt her mind spark back to life as if something snapped.

She wasn't going to let him walk away like this.

Going after him, she took two long strides and grabbed his shoulder, forcibly turning him around to face her. Keeping a grip on his robes, she clenched her other hand into a tight fist and swung it towards his face with all her strength, channeling all the frustration and confusion that had been building up since Christmas. She felt her knuckles collide into his jaw with a painful snap, and the next moment, they both went topping onto the floor in a crash.

Her elbow and knee hit the cold ground painfully but she instinctively righted herself so that she was on top of his chest, still gripping his robes like death. Draco grunted as he fell on his back, his eyes bleary but looking at her in absolute shock.

"How dare you, Draco Malfoy!" she pulled his robes towards her, forcing him to look at her. "_I _don't know anything? No! It's _you _who doesn't understand a damn thing!"

He blinked a few times, still straining from her physical attack.

"Give up?" she continued. "I won't give up! I didn't then, and I won't now! And if you think that your silence is _protecting _me somehow, then let me make it clear. Who do you think I am? I don't need you to protect me at your obvious expense! Did you think I'd be grateful to see you suffering every week?"

There was a low pop and a muffled groan, indicating his jaw setting back into place.

"It's because I'm a _mudblood_ isn't it? Do you think I'm inferior and in need of shielding? Is that why you won't accept my help—because I'm not good enough?"

"No!" he finally got out, trying to pry her fingers off his robes.

"Then what is it?" she demanded, ignoring his attempts. "I've been patient, Draco! You've ignored me, dismissed me, insulted me, cursed me, wished me gone—how much more do you think I can take? And did you know, your silence hurts me the most? So just tell me!"

"Don't make me say it!" he hissed, sounding more desperate than demanding. "You can't—"

"I can!" she countered. "You think I can't help you? That I'm not capable of taking whatever it is you're thinking about? _Try me_!"

She felt his hands wrestle her grip off his robes and push her back. With a grunt of effort, he bucked her off him and tossed her sideways, using the momentum and his greater weight to pin her to the floor. She landed on her back with a painful thud, anger rising in her chest as he pegged both her hands by her head. Hermione struggled under his hold but his grip was like iron, and her right hand wasn't responding.

Just as she thought he would punch her in return, he lowered his face, letting his hair fall against her forehead and sealed her lips with his own.

Hermione stopped struggling in shock, feeling the familiar warm sensation in her stomach suddenly burn alive, like a candle had been dunked in oil.

His kiss was forceful but deep with fervor, nothing like the clumsy contact they had on Christmas Eve—yet so familiar. She felt his heart beat rapidly through their proximity, and a sudden ache in her chest arose. Just as she was about to lose air, Draco ripped himself away from her; breaking their contact like they had been cut apart.

"Dammit Granger!" he yelled breathlessly. "Why aren't you stopping me? Say something!"

Hermione couldn't find her response. Her lips weren't following her mind; she was still lost in the moment, unable to snap back at him.

He was right.

Why hadn't she stopped him?

She was still shocked at her own response. She had kissed him back, wholly and instinctively. Nothing even felt wrong about it. In fact, she felt filled, content even.

"But… I…" She swallowed back her haziness, trying to find her voice again.

Hermione felt her eyebrows crease as she stared at the blonde above her. He briefly set his gaze on hers, lingering there for a moment longer than normal. She saw his silver eyes strain for answers—something that she obviously wasn't giving.

Draco released a tense breath before turning his head and pushing himself off of her. His grip around her hands loosened as he pulled her up with him into a sitting position.

For a moment, neither of them spoke a word.

Hermione waited for him to say something; anything to explain his actions just now. She felt utterly dumbfounded. All her previous remarks seemed to have died in her throat. She had _not _planned for this at all.

Instead of speaking, he gently lifted her injured hand and regarded it with an amused glint in his eyes. Her index and middle finger were both swollen all the way to her knuckles, slightly red and bent awkwardly. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it to her hand and uttered a spell.

Her fingers felt hot and then suddenly turned cold. The swelling disappeared rapidly, and she could feel the tips of her fingers again. She flexed them slowly, marveling at the quick work.

"Thank you…" she murmured at last, still feeling the silence wear on her shoulders. When it looked like he wasn't going to say anything in return, she continued, "Where did you learn that?"

He smirked slightly, "It was the spell Madam Pomfrey used to fix my nose after you punched me in our third year."

Hermione felt her face grow red, "Well you deserved it back then."

"And you deserve it right now," he countered.

She didn't respond, feeling a sense of justice done well. She shouldn't have punched him.

"I'm sorry," she blurted, unable to hold back the shame from her actions. "I… I shouldn't have barged into your mind like that, or hurt you—I don't know what came over me—I just—"

Draco snorted softly. "The only person you hurt was yourself, Granger."

"Still, it was inexcusable," she said guiltily. "I—I was just so…"

Hermione trailed off, unable to finish that sentence. _So_ what? It still didn't rectify her actions. Draco honestly didn't _have _to tell her anything. She was the one doing all the pushing.

"I know," he said quietly, not really looking at her.

Hermione lifted her gaze, wondering if that was his way of saying it was all right. Though, that still didn't answer her biggest question. Swallowing back her confusion and strain, she cleared her throat.

"Draco…" she began, "do you remember in September, when I met you in the hallway, I asked you what you thought about me?"

He blinked.

"Well… I want to hear your answer again, your truthful answer. More specifically, how—well—how do you _feel_ about me?"

He ran his hand through his hair with a quiet breath. "That… I don't know."

"…You don't know?" she repeated, ignoring the disappointment in her chest. If she acknowledged the disappointment, it meant she had been hoping for a different answer. And she wasn't sure if she was ready to face that yet.

"I don't have a clue," he continued, bringing his hand to his forehead. "Did you think I planned this? That I was prepared for this? I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm not going crazy because I can't find it in myself to hate you."

_Doesn't hate me. There's progress. _

"Then why… why did you kiss me?"

He turned his face away. "I don't know. When you said 'try me', I just… did."

Hermione contemplated his words with dismay. Well, what had she expected—some kind of deep romantic poem, perhaps?

"You know, I think it's best if we… keep apart for a while," she suggested faintly.

"Why?" he said immediately, narrowing his eyes. "No, I disagree."

She sighed. "Well for one thing, you don't know what you're feeling, and frankly neither do I… And I need to think about some things. And I think that you should too—you know—sort out what you really feel."

"It's him, isn't it?" His frown deepened. "I heard about the little gift you got on Valentine's Day. It's from Krum, I knew it."

"Well don't believe what you hear from rumors," she grimaced, feeling aggravated that a personal part of her life was now in the gossip circle at Hogwarts. "Viktor isn't my boyfriend."

"He fancies you, though," he said with a growl. "And you accepted his gift—"

"Why does that concern you, Draco?" she asked critically. "You don't even know how you feel about me. For all I know, I may still be an inferior being to you."

"…I don't think that."

She sulked slightly. "Well, you can tell me again with conviction when you've sorted out your feelings."

"Hang on," he raised a hand as she got up to her feet. "This isn't fair—"

"No, it's _right,_" she corrected. "I think distance will help us both with this… predicament."

"Granger, you can't do this," he insisted.

"Why not?" she pressed.

"Because… because you can't!"

Hermione bit her lip. "Draco, I'm just giving us both time and space to ourselves. I need it, and you need it."

He grumbled, bringing a hand to his face. "This isn't what I wanted."

Afraid of another 'I don't know' answer, she bit back asking what he truly wanted then. She didn't know if she could bear hearing it. Too much had happened already for her to process properly.

She gently took hold of the door and pulled it open, hesitantly looking over her shoulder. Draco wasn't facing her. He stared at the place she sat, eyes boring into the tiled floor as if it had done something to personally offend him.

Hermione calmly shut the door behind her, finally letting her knees go weak and her aching lungs release suppressed breaths. She dragged herself out of the corridor, feeling her hands itch.

Had she done the right thing? In all honesty, she didn't know how she felt about Draco either. The whole conception of him willingly kissing her still hadn't registered in her brain. He was her tormentor during her early years at Hogwarts, a complete egotistical prat on a whole other level. But now—Merlin help her—she didn't know.

She had no idea where to start with him.

There had been so many days she sat in her dormitory, frustrated with her mission and being compelled to converse with the blonde willingly. Now those days were far-gone. And the sudden kiss was so unlike the one she shared with Viktor. It was eerily passionate and eager, tearing at her defenses with ease and tossing her mind to be lost in the action. There had been something so raw and feral about it, she could practically replay the memory to perfection.

As ridiculous as it may have seemed, she needed to face it herself. Had she fallen for Draco? She couldn't even pinpoint to the exact moment it happened. It was as if she had been taken by a tsunami of words and memories that suddenly seemed all too important to her.

Maybe she was just confusing her feelings with her duty. She had sincere feelings for him as a friend that much she knew to be true. Hermione certainly didn't want him to be a Death Eater like his father, or believe in Voldemort's cause at all. She did want him to be happy, but how far did that feeling extend?

Just what _did_ she want?

Heaving a confused sigh, Hermione slipped through the Fat Lady's portrait, deciding not to head down to dinner. She didn't know if she could eat with a straight mind.

.

The rest of February flew by faster than she had thought possible. Professor Trelawney finally received the last note, getting sacked and dismissed in front of the Great Hall. It was only through Dumbledore's quick thinking that he was able to keep her from leaving the castle. The new Divination professor was Firenze, a centaur from the Forbidden Forest. How Dumbledore managed to find him and request him to teach hormonal teenage students was beyond her.

Hermione hardly even had the time to sort out her feelings for Draco. She dutifully turned back the time every Thursday, but didn't dare to talk to him. She simply observed and waited outside the Slytherin dungeons. Never again had he gone to the Room of Requirement. It had been weeks since their last conversation, but he didn't seem any closer to his answer than she was.

She felt extremely angry with herself after she realized that her mission hadn't progressed any further. She was no closer to figuring out what the heck was going on with him, and how she was supposed to help him. She had blurry facts from her Legilimens attack, but nothing concrete.

Troublesome emotions.

D.A meetings were now picking up, giving her another point of distraction. After going through a few offensive spells Hermione already had mastery of, Harry finally introduced the Patronus charm.

He called everyone to gather as he demonstrated.

"Listen here," Harry began. "The Patronus charm is one of the most powerful defensive charms, therefore, immensely difficult, so don't feel bogged if you can't get it even on the tenth try."

Everyone murmured in excitement.

"The incantation is _Expecto Patronum_—wave your wand in a full circle like this—and here's the important part, you have to concentrate on a single, happy memory or thought. The spell feeds off your emotions, so the happier, the better."

Harry waved his wand in a quick circle before exclaiming, "_Expecto Patronum_!" A silver stag burst form the tip of his wand and pranced around the room before jumping into the air and disappearing.

Everyone 'ooohed'.

After explaining the importance of the memory again, Harry split them off into different parts of the room to practice. Hermione moved to the corner of the room, focusing on her one happy memory. She knew immediately which one she wanted to use. It was the moment she got her Hogwarts letter, explaining that she was a witch and was eagerly awaited for at a new home with others like her.

She shut her eyes and concentrated deeply, using her Occlumency shields to push back irrelevant memories, focusing on the day she received that letter. She recalled the emotions and thoughts to every detail.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Silver mist erupted from her wand, creating a large pool that seemed to dance in front of her. It seemed to be trying to take a form, but a second later, it vanished.

Hermione felt disappointment grip her heart. She knew it had taken weeks for Harry to master his, but she still couldn't shake the feeling away.

"Hermione, that was brilliant!" Ginny said excitedly next to her.

"Thanks," she smiled back. "But it was still non-corporeal."

The redhead rolled her eyes, "It was your first try. Honestly, you expect too much from yourself, sometimes."

"Can't help it," she replied casually, trying the charm for the second time. It was another non-corporeal.

"What do you reckon your Patronus will be?" Ginny asked, frowning at her own failed attempt.

Hermione shrugged, "I can't say. It's supposed to be an animal you have some shared affinity for. Or something that describes you holistically as a person."

"Hmm," Ginny nodded in thought. "I think whatever mine is, I'll like it."

"Me too," she agreed, and turned back to her own charm.

After a full night unsuccessful attempts, Hermione huffed in frustration and decided to take a moment to breathe. The Patronus was still non-corporeal, but she could tell it was close to take a certain form. Just as the silver mist began to looks like something she could decipher, it would vanish.

The next two weeks were spent studying meticulously for her O.W.L.s , ignoring Draco in Arithmancy, then wondering if she should talk to him that Thursday, failing in her courage, and trying to master the Patronus Charm.

After her umpteenth failure, Hermione finally bit back her pride and explained her predicament to Harry. A sense of inadequacy settled in her stomach as she noticed Luna's hare and Ron's terrier prance around the room. Even Ginny and Cho were able to cast a corporeal patronus.

Harry gave her a knowing look.

"It's your memory," he explained. "You're using the wrong one—well, not the wrong one, but in a sense, a weaker one."

She tilted her head in exasperation, "But how do I know which memory is stronger?"

"You just do," he said as a matter-of-factly. "Especially when you're first trying to produce a Patronus. You'll feel a natural pull towards what makes you the most happy."

"But that's what I'm doing!" she insisted, still feeling frustrated.

He frowned, "Hermione, you might _think _a certain memory makes you the happiest because it makes _sense_, but most of the time, it doesn't have to do with logical reasoning like that, but emotional thinking. You need to feel the memory, not think it."

"I'm _trying,_ Harry. I really am."

"You know, I struggled with this quite a bit in the beginning too, remember?" Harry said softly. "Professor Lupin told me that sometimes a Patronus would take its intended form with a strong memory. Not necessarily happy, but _strong_."

Hermione pursed her lips, waiting for him to continue.

"The first time I created a corporeal Patronus was when Sirius and I were in danger from all the Dementors by the lake. I cast it thinking about my will to _protect_ the both of us. It was either I take them, or they take us. Like I said before, you can't just think about the memory or emotions. You have to actively feel it, and channel those emotions into the charm."

"So something I feel especially strong about?" she frowned, trying to pull up her thoughts.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Most people can work with happy memories because that's also what they feel the strongest pull towards. Hermione, you're like me, you need to think about it a little more. And trust me; it gets much easier from there."

"I understand," she said quietly, lowering her wand. "I'll do some self-reflection."

He smiled, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before walking around to help the others.

Hermione stared at her wand with narrowed eyes, replaying Harry's words in her head. A strong, unyielding passion… She thought about the moments where her inner fire burned. The moments where she refused to back down, striving diligently, unwilling to give in to anything for a cause.

What exactly was it?

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I am terribly late. So so sorry. My studio classes this quarter were much more heavier than I anticipated, and I've been dying under the workload.

Anyway, I have lots to say for this chapter! The reason why I believe Hermione would be good at Occlumency (even though she never pursued it in canon), is also the reason why she struggles with casting a patronus. Hermione is a very rational person. In the areas Harry excels in - thinking intuitively or emotionally - Hermione lacks a bit. I think this is also the reason why she doesn't completely excel in Defense spells like Harry does. She doesn't put her emotions into the spells like it's life or death. Think of the time Harry tried using _Crucio_ on Bellatrix in the Department of Mysteries. It didn't work well, and Bellatrix explained that in order for the spell to work, you really have to wish pain upon that person, not just anger. The patronus goes along the same lines, especially because it's based off of pure emotion and feeling. But Hermione will get there. Or, at least in this fic she will!

Also about Hermione's patronus, I am planning on changing the form to something that fits her more along the path of this story. Sorry if you really liked her otter patronus. I already have an animal in mind, and I'll explain my reasoning in the next chapter.

Lastly, just to answer some questions from past reviews for clarification... The azalea was from Viktor, sorry if that wasn't quite clear. Draco is not dating Pansy. If Harry ever opened the Marauder's Map while Hermione was back in time, he wouldn't see her and Draco because they are in the Room of Requirement (which is unplottable, and therefore, not on the map), so her secret is quite safe for now. And finally, this will not turn into a sweet, fluff filled story once the romance kicks in - in fact, I see a lot of angst in the near future... hehe.

As always, thank you for all the love, you guys are the best. *Hugs!*

El


	18. Heart and Mind

Disclaimer: If I owned HP, things would have ended very differently... ahem like *cough* Fred's death.

* * *

Chapter 18: Heart and Mind

.

It took her another week to really understand Harry's words.

Friday evening after dinner, Hermione sat in her corner of the library writing up her essay for Potions. She swore quietly, realizing that she was going to over exceed the length requirement. Again. She crossed through a few unnecessary tangents, knowing that impressing Snape was going to be harder than 'plagiarizing from the textbook', as he so eloquently put it.

The second chair across the table dragged across the carpet and Hermione heard someone sit down. Assuming it was Harry or Ron again, she kept her eyes focused on her parchment, furiously writing down her conclusion.

"I'm almost done, just give me a…" She raised her head, trailing off in incredulity as she saw who was sitting in front of her.

He wasn't looking at her, but kept his eyes lowered to her hand, watching as if there was something interesting there.

"…Draco," she finished lamely, setting down her quill.

Hermione hadn't had a proper conversation with him in nearly two months. She still had yet to find her own answer regarding her own feelings towards him and cursed her tendency to continuously overanalyze everything. She knew she was close, just another kick and she could break the surface of where her heart lay.

"Granger," he greeted back, still not meeting her eyes.

Silence.

"Well," she said at last, shifting in her seat, "Erm—is everything all right?"

Instead of answering, Draco slowly reached into his robes and pulled out a small paperback book. She immediately recognized it—_Wuthering Heights_. He set it down at the table and Hermione reached out to receive it.

"Wait," he slid the book back towards his side, finally flicking his eyes up. "You owe me something in exchange."

Hermione narrowed her eyes in confusion. Had she agreed to give him something for him reading the book? Nothing came to mind.

"Which is?"

Draco's eyebrows knitted slightly as an inscrutable expression took over. "You owe me that last book."

In that moment, she could have sworn she felt something in her soul spark. Her breathing hitched as her brown eyes widened in recognition.

The book.

He was asking for _Cato's book._ Willingly. Expectantly. All on his own.

A warm sensation filled her chest and a smile broke out on her face before she could stop it. For a moment, she just beamed at him, letting her sudden happiness pour out like a faucet.

Surprise flashed through his eyes. "Does it really make you that happy?"

"Of course it does! It's been eight months—actually ten—since I've been _waiting_ for those words. How long did you think I've been—" Hermione abruptly stopped herself, her lips parting slightly with understanding.

This was it. Harry was right; this was the natural pull that she had been struggling to acknowledge all those weeks.

This was her answer.

She released a sigh that was a mix between laughter and relief, feeling an incredible lightness in her chest. Her eyes trailed over to the confused Slytherin in front of her, knowing that he was completely unaware to the revelation she had experienced.

Not wanting to lose another moment, she pulled out her wand and closed her eyes in concentration. The feeling was so clear; she wondered why she hadn't noticed it before.

"Granger, what are you—"

"_Expecto Patronum_," she whispered.

A bright silver entity burst from the tip of her wand, Hermione immediately knew it had worked. She stared at the corporeal unicorn before her, watching it gracefully prance around the area, illuminating the library. After realizing there were no Dementors to chase, the animal reared its head down, meeting Draco's forehead with its snout before vanishing in a swirl of white.

Draco blinked. "That was—"

"—My patronus," Hermione finished, eyes still lingering over the spot her spirit animal had stood. "I… was struggling with the spell for nearly two months. But now I finally got it. I understand."

She waited for his response but he stayed quiet. She didn't know how much Draco knew about producing a patronus, and she wondered if he caught her analogy between the spell and her feelings.

After her failed results, Hermione had rampaged the library for books on the Patronus Charm, and they all had told her the same thing. To produce a corporeal patronus depended on the state of the caster's heart. More than anything, the animal was linked to the caster's capability for happiness and love. That was the strongest pull.

And she had just found it, as well as her answer.

Feeling an odd sense of accomplishment and release, she reached into her bag and pulled out the book she had been longing to give him.

Hermione firmly met his eyes as she handed the journal to him, pondering how it had taken her this long to see him. Truly see him.

"I've been waiting," she smiled at him, feeling a burst of pixies in her stomach as he met her gaze.

He took the old book from her hands and returned the borrowed one.

"I know," he replied. "But you'll wait a little longer won't you?"

She reached for the book, gently placing her hand over his fingers rather than the cover. She set her eyes in a determined slant, her gaze never leaving his.

"As long as it takes."

She felt the conviction of her own words ring between her ears, and she could only hope he had heard the sincerity in her voice.

"Granger…" Draco's voice lowered to a whisper. "I… want you to know that I have no idea what I'm doing, and that aggravates me more than I can say… but you—you're not a nobody to me."

He slipped _Wuthering Heights_ into her palm and gently pulled his arm back, looking as if he had just stepped on his own dignity. And Hermione couldn't have blamed him; that was probably one of the closest things she would ever see to his hidden heart.

Visibly looking fazed with himself, Draco quietly cleared his throat and pushed himself off the chair.

"Draco," she called out to him, just as he was about to leave. "That… really means a lot to me… thank you."

He simply nodded with his head, seemingly unable to get another word out.

Hermione watched him leave, feeling a sense of vacancy in the air. The library suddenly seemed colder with his absence, and it was then she had no doubt in her soul.

She had irrefutably fallen for him.

.

The moment Draco had left with the journal, Hermione packed up all her things and cleaned off the table. There wasn't a moment more to waste. Now that she had her answer, hesitation was no longer a choice. Even if Draco's feelings didn't collide right with hers, she would still take the chance.

The chance to save him.

Throwing her bag over her shoulder, Hermione dashed out of the library, resolution in every step. If she was going to help Draco, she needed to be able to keep his secrets, and have him trust her with them. With Voldemort's return and the recently escaped Death Eaters, there were too many chances of things being plucked from her mind without her knowing. She couldn't have that.

Now that she had thought about it, nearly two months were wasted because she hesitated with her feelings—with the silly thing called the heart.

She cut the hallway corners and scampered down the stairs, formulating her plan as she ran. She should have done this long ago.

A familiar set of double doors appeared before her, and Hermione stopped in front of them, catching her breath. After a moment of repose, she pushed the left door open, popping her head inside the Potion's classroom.

The faint smell of herbs filled her nose as she fully stepped inside to face the man in front of the class. Professor Snape's head tilted up ever so slightly; if he was surprised to see her there, he didn't show it.

"Miss Granger," his deep voice drawled out with an uninterested tone. "What inane problem brings you here at this hour?"

Hermione released another deep breath before walking straight up to his desk, meeting her potions professor eye to eye.

"I'm here to make a deal with you, sir," she replied firmly.

Snape's eyebrow barely lifted, but the rest of his expression remained neutral. "If you're here to make mindless suggestions, the door's right behind you."

"I am _serious_, professor," she pressed, thinking back on Dumbledore's words. "…This is a matter of life or death."

His black eyes regarded her carefully, and Hermione stared back. She couldn't feel his presence in her mind and cursed that she wasn't perfectly sure of that claim. He seemed to be able to look right through her.

"Enough standing there if it's so important," he finally spoke, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Speak."

Forcing down her nervousness, Hermione unlocked her jaw. "One week professor, just _one week,_ I need you to help me improve my Occlumency—"

"No," he said sharply. "Has your Gryffindotic mind already forgotten my answer from last time? It hasn't changed if you haven't noticed."

"I do remember, sir," she replied evenly. "But the reason is different now and I... I cannot take no for an answer."

Her hands began to shake slightly at her statement, and she mentally repeated to herself that Snape wouldn't hurt her. He was an Order member, as much as he seemed to fit with the tattoo seared on his left arm, Hermione continuously reminded herself that this was a man that Dumbledore trusted. He could help her. He had to.

"I cannot take no for an answer…" he repeated slowly, his dark eyes slanting in obvious displeasure. "You seem to be mistaken, Miss Granger, that your fleeting aspirations have a connection to my willingness to teach you anything other than potions. Why is that?"

"I do not, sir," she corrected. "But this is—"

"Then you may escort yourself out the door for I am done with this pointless talk."

Snape picked up his quill again and proceeded to ignore her presence. Hermione inwardly shook her head and remained at his desk, unwilling to back down from this.

"Professor, please—"

"Disobedience will get you nowhere," he cut her off, drawing a large 'D' on a poor third year's essay. "Now kindly remove yourself from this room."

"This is extremely important to me, sir, I can't go until you—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," he interrupted again, finally turning to her. "You will learn that backtalk is not tolerated."

Hermione swallowed tightly, but stayed where she was. She tamed her anger, reminding herself that this was necessary.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," Snape continued, watching her with a piercing gaze. "I wonder if it's so important that you'll stay where you are?"

She clenched her shaking fists, not letting him get to her. She knew he was testing her to see if she would back down for the sake of her House. She would show him.

"Thirty points from Gryffindor…" he spoke again, waiting for any kind of reaction. She gave him none.

Hermione began inwardly apologizing to everyone in her house, trying not to imagine their faces as they approached the Great Hall tomorrow morning and saw the Gryffindor Hourglass empty. She had just lost a whopping sixty points in the last minute, all for a selfish reason.

"Forty—"

The doors to the potion's classroom boomed opened, stopping Snape from finishing his sentence. They both turned their heads to see the most unexpected wizard walk in with a colorful swish of his robes.

Snape immediately stood from his seat, his eyebrows furrowing deeply.

"Headmaster."

Dumbledore merely glanced between them, his half-moon spectacles sitting on the low crook of his nose. A questioning glint passed through his eyes as he shut the heavy door behind him and stared at the two of them.

"It's not everyday I see the Gryffindor rubies quite literally drain away like sand," he joked lightly, walking towards them. "Severus, would you mind enlightening me on the situation?"

Hermione saw Snape's jaw lock rigidly, and his shoulders tensing. She had not expected this situation at all.

"Miss Granger here demands for something I cannot give," he answered slowly. "She unfortunately, did not listen to my first answer of 'no' and 'leave'."

Dumbledore turned to her. "Is this true?"

"I… " She started, glancing at both men. "I wanted to make a deal with Professor Snape, so he could teach me Occlumency."

"A deal?" the Headmaster mused. "And Severus, what was at the end of your deal that you have denied her?"

Snape didn't respond. Now that Hermione had thought about it, she actually never got the chance to tell him why or what she would be doing in return.

"It was an inconsequential factor," he supplied instead. "You couldn't actually be encouraging this, Albus?"

Dumbledore looked at Hermione again, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Encouraging or not, I am intrigued in what she had to offer. Miss Granger?"

She took a quick breath before squaring her shoulders. "Draco Malfoy."

Surprise and confusion momentarily flashed through Snape's features. Even Dumbledore seemed to not have expected such an answer.

"That… I would help him save Draco Malfoy," she finished resolutely, looking at the Headmaster straight in the eye.

The room seemed to have dropped in temperature. Neither Dumbledore nor Snape responded to her, but they were rather looking at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation.

She hadn't spoken to Dumbledore about Draco since he had given her Cato's journal, and so much had happened since. She knew he was a sharp wizard, and would understand that Snape had uncovered her mission.

For another painful moment, the room stayed quiet.

"How long?" Dumbledore finally asked. "Miss Granger, how much time is needed?"

She shot a glance towards Snape's unreadable expression before answering. "Just one week, professor. I swear, I will master it to the best of my ability within that time frame."

"Albus," Snape's gritted his teeth. "You cannot be serious. I already have my hands filled with Potter—"

"I will send Harry a note to relieve him of lessons next week," Dumbledore simply answered. "I am sure the both of you will be more than pleased."

"That does not change the absurd fact that she asks for a single week," he growled, throwing a scowl in her direction. "She cannot do it. It will be a waste of my time and well as hers."

The old wizard glanced at Hermione. "I have full faith that Miss Granger can accomplish this task… As well as fulfill her end of this deal. Is my faith rightfully placed?"

Hermione straightened her back, feeling an overwhelming sense of hope and determination fill her. "I won't fail you, sir."

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "You may follow Harry's orders as they are the most convenient time for Professor Snape."

She turned to look at her potion's professor, awaiting his answer. His upper lip was curled into an irritated sneer, the quill in his hand bent and broken.

"Six o'clock," he finally answered through his teeth. "My office, starting Sunday evening. Do not be late."

Hermione nodded evenly, feeling her heart race against her ribs. She had done it. Well—Dumbledore had done it, but her plan had fallen through correctly.

"Now with that settled," Dumbledore spoke up. "Miss Granger, I do believe it is time for you to head off."

Satisfied, she nodded farewell the Snape, knowing she had probably pissed him off beyond her years.

"Ah, and fifty-five points to Gryffindor," Dumbledore proclaimed, looking at Hermione. "For your bravery and strength that you have shown tonight. The remaining five—unfortunately, you have passed curfew."

Biting back a victorious smile, Hermione thanked the Headmaster as she walked down the rows of tables, meeting his clear gaze. She gave one last nod to both professors before pushing the dungeon door open and slipping out of the cold room.

When she heard the oak door slam shut, Hermione broke out into a smile and tightened her hand in a triumphant fist. She had done it! Never in her life had she impulsively done such a thing, and it felt incredible—liberating, really. She quickly cast the disillusionment charm over herself like a second skin and proceeded towards the Gryffindor Tower.

She knew the next week would be hell on earth, but tonight—just for tonight, she would celebrate her private victory.

.

Hermione spent all of Saturday and Sunday morning finishing up her homework for the following week. She knew she would have no time for last minute work if she was going to see Professor Snape everyday for lessons.

When the large hand of the clock met eleven, Hermione gathered all her courage and left the Gryffindor Tower. She had not informed Harry or Ron where she was going, and decided to keep it that way. Harry was nearly bouncing with joy that he had been given a week of rest from Snape, and she knew better than to inform him of the reason why.

The chill became quickly noticeable as she entered the dungeons and made her way to Snape's office. She bit back a smile, remembering how she had once invaded his private supplies to brew the Polyjuice potion.

Reaching the door, she took a calming breath and emptied her mind. It was time to suppress memories, not relive them. She raised her hand, knocked on the oak twice, and entered.

His private office was the same as she remembered it, cluttered in what she could only call organized chaos. A dark room barely illuminated by the small torches that hung from the wall. She could see hundreds of flasks lining the side with all sorts of herbs and plants spilling out of the cabinets behind his desk.

Snape seemed to emerge from the shadows as his tall frame stepped forth, his trademark sneer causing her shoulders to tense.

"Miss Granger," he settled his gaze on her, and Hermione had the strange feeling she was being analyzed.

"Good evening, sir," she responded evenly, steeling her nerves.

He approached the desk, keeping his gaze sharp. "I will skip the formalities as you have already the knowledge of why you are here… but know this… Dumbledore may believe you, but I certainly do not."

"I won't fail, sir," she replied strongly.

He raised an eyebrow every so slightly. "It's only a matter of time. Now prepare yourself. I will attempt to break into your mind, and you will stop me—or suffer my displeasure for wasting my time."

Hermione watched him pull out his wand and point it straight at her. But she didn't reach for hers, determined to repel him with her mind and not her wand.

"Brace yourself… _Legilimens!"_

She had often believed Harry to be exaggerating when he returned every Monday night accompanied by a sour mood and a killer headache. But now she understood.

The spell hit her mind like a truck, painfully breaking through her defensive walls and rendering her momentarily still. Snape's office disappeared as he forcibly overturned the calm state of her mind into a disaster scene.

Hermione gritted her teeth, doing everything she could to stop his advances before a memory slipped past her. She pushed down her surfacing emotions, allowing herself to feel nothing. Be nothing. She could feel Snape silently move through the maze of her mind, attacking weak areas of her being. Just as she thought she would overcome him, she felt herself slip.

_No! No! Dammit!_

Images began flying past her lids, showing her glimpses of her childhood. The other children at her primary school calling her names… being secluded from the group… burying herself away in the mist of her books . . . Suddenly the scene shifted quickly, fast-forwarding to the incident two months ago with Draco. She was pinned to the floor in the Room of Requirement, his face only a few inches above hers. She knew all too well what was going to happen next.

Absolutely refusing to let Snape see such a personal scene, she called upon her magic, forgetting that she hadn't taken up her wand earlier. As if some tense bubble in her had been popped, she heard a cry of defiance escape her throat and a strong wave of magical force leave her.

Snape's office came reeling into view just as she saw the small office burst. Flasks exploded simultaneously, throwing shards of glass into the air. Rolls of parchment, ink and spare quills flew off his desk, small drawers unhinged and crashed into the wall behind, spilling all it contents, pots and plants shattered, spilling dirt over the wooden floor. The torches blew out and covered the room in darkness.

Hermione collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily and grasping her aching head. She felt drained and utterly exhausted. It was as if she had just dueled with Draco ten times over without rest. Her hands and arms shook uncontrollably and bright spots danced before her eyes.

She couldn't see anything. Either the room was dark or she was losing her vision. Before Hermione could lose her mind to the sudden panic, she heard a deep grunt somewhere in front of her.

Snape.

"P-Professor?" she stammered out, unable to hold back the exhaustion in her voice. What on earth had happened?

Suddenly the torches roared to life, and Snape's office came into view. Hermione choked back her gasp, taking in the half-destroyed room. It was as if someone had taken a wind-blower and trashed the contents in his office.

Snape was standing at the far end of the room, leaning against the fallen cupboards with his wand raised. A look of utter disbelief passed through his eyes before being replaced by anger. She could see two small cuts on the right side of his cheek, the curtain of his hair thrown back against his skull.

"P-Professor," Hermione tried again, unable to get to her feet. "W-What happened?"

He pushed himself off the broken cabinets with another grunt, wiping at his cheek and staring at the small amount of blood that stained his fingers.

"What happened… you say?" he finally spoke, lowering his hand. "Accidental burst of magic is just what happened. You lost control, Miss Granger, where is your wand?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, patting the area where she always kept her wand. "Here… sir."

A scowl marred his features. "And you were arrogant enough to think that you could repel me without it?"

"No… I—"

"It is child's play!" he growled, clearly displeased with the state of his office. "Accidental bursts of magic occur to children who have not a sense of control—who have no skill with discipline—and you, Miss Granger, have done just that."

Snape brushed off the mess from his black robes, stalking towards her in obvious anger.

"Get up," he commanded.

She flexed her shaking hands, forcing her muscles to move. Pushing off the cold ground, Hermione grabbed the edge of his table for support and stood on her feet. Her breathing was still strained and her head pounded so painfully it felt as if a Bludger had hit her in multiple successions.

As she struggled, Snape walked over to the corner of his office, placing his wand at his temple. She saw a string of silvery substance trail out from his head until it was just shorter than the length of his arm. Wordlessly, he maneuvered the strange glowing substance and lowered it in what seemed like a water basin.

"Control your emotions," he ordered, distracting her from his actions. "You cannot expect to protect anyone when you cannot master yourself."

She simply nodded her head, unable to find her voice.

"Discipline, Miss Granger. Know that your first attempt was not the travesty Potter had showed me . . . We will try this again."

The second attempt was hardly better than the first. She held onto the armchair for fear of collapsing again, but it scarcely helped the mental rips in her mind. Her face was scrunched tightly as soft pants escaped her and she momentarily wondered if the pain could get any worse. She hadn't prepared for this at all.

"Your attempts for defense are hindering you," he said after a moment of repose. "_Everything _must be put away. Even intentions."

She nodded, not willing to risk her voice. Straightening her back as a sign or readiness, she raised her wand to meet his.

Hermione didn't even hear him utter the spell, and nearly fell back when Snape's office blurred away. She felt his mind ram into her shields repeatedly, not giving her a second of rest. Taking in her exhausted state, she let her barriers vanish, all sense of defense gone and thought nothing.

Suddenly, everything went white. Blinking, she glanced around to see nothing but an infinite space of white in all directions. It was like a blank slate. No thoughts, no emotion, and no memories.

It felt oddly cold, but Hermione knew her shields truly worked. And Snape had given her that hint. She needed absolute control over herself. She could feel his mind's essence intrude; trying to disturb the peace she had set. Rather than blocking him outright, Hermione ignored him. She focused on the empty state of her mind, recalling how the book had told her to not react. The more energy she put into bluntly blocking him, the less she had to control her mindscape.

She just wasn't good enough to do that yet.

"So that brain of yours has actually been put to use, I see."

Snape's office came whirling back, and Hermione questioned why it was dark again.

She had fallen.

Pushing herself off the ground once more, she tried to give her response. For a strange moment, she couldn't find the words. Her mind was still stuck in the expanse of her mind, almost as if she had forgotten what it meant to give a reply. She could see him perfectly in front of her, but she couldn't find her response. Her face seemed to be trapped in the same blank orientation.

"I see that you are finding it difficult to speak," he continued. "That is expected. Breaking the ice of your mind will take more time and practice as you utilize Occlumency."

She remembered that too. The book had told her human interaction and physical contact helps an Occlumens break from their blank state after a prolonged use.

"Yes, sir," she finally said.

Merlin, was that her? She couldn't recognize her own voice. It was far too hollow and quiet. It lacked life, vitality, the usual bossy sort of tone that many people have said she had.

Snape regarded her closely before opening his mouth again. "If you find yourself able to speak, then do tell me this, Miss Granger. Where is your point of mastery? Just… how far are you willing to go?"

She lifted her chin, still unable to make any other facial expression. "Until Voldemort himself cannot—"

"Do _not_ say his name!" he suddenly snapped, his usual calm demeanor slipping. Snape exhaled sharply before squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again. "Caution, Miss Granger, is sometimes one of the most useful acts of self-defense."

"Yes, sir," she replied, feeling apologetic yet not sounding sorry at all. It was as if her tone of voice couldn't seem anything other than flat and insincere. "Until… until I can fully protect those who I care about… from _him._"

"That is an acceptable answer," he said, almost sounding as if he approved of what she said. "Report back here tomorrow. And do not forget the feeling of truly emptying your mind… you still have much to learn."

"Of course. Thank you, professor," she tried to put her honest feelings into her words. It didn't seem to work.

"Now get out of my office," he waved at her dismissively. "Your utter carelessness has wreaked havoc in my personal quarters."

Hermione wanted to protest and apologize for losing control, but she simply lowered her head in understanding and bid him goodnight. She was bloody well exhausted, and it was only the first day.

After stepping out of the cold office and shutting the door, she scampered up seven flights of stairs, eager to get back into the dorms to rest. Realizing it was an hour past curfew, Hermione reached into her robes for her wand, deciding to cast the disillusionment charm. Her fingers slipped by her waist, feeling nothing but fabric. Feeling alarmed, she threw off her outer robe in a frantic search for her wand. Where on earth had it gone? Had it slipped from her waist when she had collapsed in Professor Snape's office?

Suddenly feeling much more vulnerable, Hermione spun on her heel and retraced her steps back to the dungeons. She felt the ice in her mind break slightly and her eyebrows twist into a worried knot. She must not have noticed due to the sheer lack of light in that room.

Approaching the oak door, she raised a hand to knock politely when she realized it was slightly open. Hermione knew with no doubt that she had closed the door, which only meant two things: Snape had left his office and accidentally left the door open—which didn't seem likely at all—or someone else had walked in after she had left.

Letting a mix of morbid curiosity and daring get ahold of her, Hermione slipped her fingers in the tiny space between the door and its frame and quietly made the gap wider.

Voices.

"—called me here to see this mess, Severus."

Hermione froze. Without a doubt in her mind, she recognized Dumbledore's voice. What was he doing here?

"Miss Granger's doing," Snape's reply came quietly. "She… had a burst of magic."

"…What happened?"

"She was trying to repel me without her wand," he explained. "And just tore down my attack as well as my office."

Silence followed.

She could hear footsteps softly scrape against the cold floor, almost as if someone was pacing.

"Similar, was it?" Dumbledore spoke up.

"The very same," Snape answered. "I have been at the receiving end of it, Albus, take my word."

"And you have the memory?"

"…Right over here. I had it extracted a moment after."

More footsteps reached her ears, sounding as if they were walking further into the office. Hermione felt a knot of confusion and utter nervousness bite at her stomach. Nothing they were talking about made sense to her.

"Ah, excellent," Dumbledore's voice trailed over. "And how, Severus, if you do not mind me asking, did Miss Granger do this evening?"

For a moment, Snape didn't reply. An indecipherable grunt escaped his throat before answering.

"Despicably remarkable."

A soft pop ensued immediately after, sounding like someone had shut the window on a windy day. Hermione strained her ears for what had happened, trying to ignore the racing of her heart at Snape's words. She couldn't hear a thing—hell, she couldn't even feel their presence, almost as if they had disappeared all together.

Taking this as her chance, Hermione pulled the oak door open to poke her head in; glancing around to make sure no one was truly inside. True to her prediction, she spotted her wand lying innocently on the floor where she had fallen. Hastily picking it up, she dashed back to the door in fear of being caught. She didn't understand where Snape and Dumbledore had gone or how they had left like that, but those answers would have to come later.

She slipped out of the office for the second time, cast the disillusionment charm over herself and bolted from the dungeons.

* * *

A/N: So why the unicorn? Seems a little random, but I've put good reasoning behind it. I read that these mythical animals represent redemption, or the ability to give a second chance in life. In European mythology, unicorn horns can clean poisoned water and heal incurable illnesses. J.K Rowling also wrote that unicorn blood could save someone from the brink of death (remember Voldemort in book 1). And as the lovely reviewer _MalfoyTwin _figured out, Draco's wand core is unicorn hair. To everyone else who guessed, you're still fabulous and hugs are very much free.

I took liberty with the exact workings of Occlumency because Harry hated it, and therefore, we didn't get much information about it. Plus I absolutely adore writing Severus Snape (a little bias on my part because I'm a Slytherin myself).

To all my new readers - Hi! I don't know where all of you came from suddenly, but I'm feeling overwhelmed by the love either way. All your lovely reviews have steeled my resolve to see this fic to the end at a solid pace. A lot of you guys liked the scarf scene from chap. 13, so I've decided to use it again in a short bonus chapter. Another landmark is reached, so thank you all.

Lastly, I have a roommate taking Astronomy, and she recently showed me where Draco was among the constellations. Part of what inspired me to write this.

El

* * *

Bonus Chapter 2: The Aftermath

.

Draco was in a sour mood.

Scratch that.

He was livid. He was royally infuriated with Potter. About to snap one of the Weasley twins—he didn't care which one. Utterly frustrated with his team and above all, furious with himself.

He had lost the snitch again.

His pride took most of the damage, but somewhere inside, Draco felt his inferiority. Malfoys were never inferior; his father had made that quite clear. Shaking his head for the tenth time, he stared at the low ceiling of the Slytherin common room, trying to find a distraction.

"Draco, it's fine," a distinctive whine sounded by his ear, followed by a nudge to his shoulder. "We can get Potter back later. Plus Weasley was _horrid_ during the game, it was hilarious, you should have seen him during the part when—are you listening?"

He forcibly turned his head to see Pansy leaning in closely, a pout on her lips as she nudged him again.

Too angry to listen, he simply grunted in response and got up from his seat. "Later, Pansy. I'm getting some air."

"But it's past curfew," she warned, having caught onto his mood. He could at least appreciate that.

"Professor Snape's doing the patrol tonight," he shot back, opening the portrait door.

Without waiting for her response, he stepped out of the common room and into the dungeon hallways. He walked quickly with purpose, already having an idea of where he wanted to go.

As he tread, he let his anger bubble to the surface as no one was around to witness it, and a deep growl rumbled in his throat.

Everything was wrong. And confusing.

He was angry with her too, and he couldn't even say why. Granger was disturbing all his perfectly laid out tides, causing him to actually question things he didn't want to question.

He bypassed the locked classroom with a simple _Alohomora _and began his trek up to the Astronomy Tower. The cold wind blew through his uniform as he walked to the fence, causing a shiver to run up his spine. Layers of ice coated the black railings, and he defrosted the element with a simple heating charm.

At least the view was still nice.

Ever unchanging and the one steady scene he secretly looked forward to seeing. The expanse of the Forbidden Forest was ahead, the Quidditch pitch was to his left, and the west wing of the castle along with the Black Lake glimmered at the right.

Releasing a loud breath, he watched it condense in the cold, before it was blown away by the sudden wind. Cursing, he brought his hand up to his empty neck, briefly wondering for a moment why nothing was there.

Her again.

He tried to feel regretful about the action and forced the image of Potter or Weasley touching his favorite scarf.

Definitely shouldn't have done it.

His previous anger spiked once more and he gripped the icing rail tightly. _Now_ he really regretted it.

Movement to his left caught his eye as Draco paused his thoughts to glance at the weird dark spots that trailed towards the castle. He frowned at the sight, realizing that something was putting imprints into the snow, but nothing was visible. His eyes tracked the trail to a small light near the forest where the half-giant lived and comprehension dawned on him.

It _must_ be those three again.

His theory was proven when a shimmering wave passed through the air and Granger appeared out of nowhere. He could recognize that long, ridiculous hair anywhere. She made a few hand gestures to no one, but Draco knew there were two more idiots under that invisibility cloak. Soon enough, the trail of imprints continued towards the castle, but smaller this time. Definitely two sets of footprints.

He looked towards his supposed source of confusion with narrowed eyes, trying not to feel too curious about why she was out there. A gloved hand went over the left side of her chest, and her chin slid up as if to look at the sky. Draco stirred slightly, momentarily thinking that she had somehow spotted him, but dismissed the absurd idea when she continued to face the night.

It was then he noticed the markings of his scarf around her neck, and how she burrowed her face into it as a particularly cold wind blew by. Her eyes were still locked toward the sky and Draco allowed himself a peek at the bright stars that decorated the zenith.

Just as quickly as she came, Granger snapped her face down and jogged towards the gates, and then vanished under the distinct shimmer of the invisibility cloak.

As Draco watched her leave his sight once more, an irreversible understanding passed through him.

He didn't regret it at all.


	19. A Warming Hand

Disclaimer: I once wanted to be a writer. Whelp. Still don't own HP though.

* * *

Chapter 19: A Warming Hand

.

The moment Hermione woke up the following morning; she was greeted with an excruciating headache and the remnants of magical exhaustion. Clutching her forehead, her foot caught in the mess of her sheets and she tumbled onto the floor with a loud grunt of pain.

"Damn it all…" she stared at the clock, realizing she had overslept.

Throwing on her uniform, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it, and dashed down the stairwell to the common room. True to her guess, Harry and Ron had already gone down.

She set her course to the Great Hall, leaping down multiple steps at a time. Her eyes trailed over to the Gryffindor hourglass as she approached the double doors, finding the bottom half moderately full—almost as if Friday night had never happened.

"Hermione!"

Harry raised a hand at her, pointing to the empty seat next to him. Ron was seated on the other side, stuffing sausages into his mouth faster than she could count.

"Sorry I'm late," she greeted, sliding into the empty spot.

Harry shrugged. "We were waiting for you, but Ron got too hungry—"

" 'Arry!" Ron interrupted with a full mouth, sending him a betrayed look.

"You said you were hungry too!"

"Honestly, it's fine," she waved at the two of them, trying to hide the immense pain that pulsed within her head every second. "It's the thought that counts."

Seemingly satisfied, Ron turned back to his breakfast, taking another serving of eggs. Harry still regarded her curiously.

"Hermione, where did you go last night?"

Nearly choking on her toast, she took a large gulp of her juice, trying not to meet his eyes.

"Library," she answered steadily. "O.W.L.s are only a two months away, you know."

Harry frowned. "Where? I actually walked in looking for you. You weren't in your usual seat."

"Really?" she raised her eyebrows, attempting to look surprised. "Sorry—I was walking around a lot yesterday. Didn't really stay in one place for too long."

"Oh," Harry simply replied, looking back at his plate. "Well, I was wondering if you could help me with McGonagall's essay? You finished it Saturday, didn't you?"

Hermione felt terrible. Honestly. Harry had been getting back into his studies after being banned from Quidditch and there was no way she could have refused his request. What would she say as an excuse? _Sorry, I actually have to see Professor Snape tonight—every night this week in fact. I can't help you. _

"Of course, Harry," she forced herself to smile. "I don't mind looking over it for you."

He seemed a whole lot happier. "Thanks, Hermione. You're the best."

Turning back to his food, Harry went back to cracking jokes with Ron, completely unaware of the restless muggle-born next to him.

Hermione knew the moment she sat in History of Magic without understanding a single thing Professor Binns had said the entire class that it was going to be a bad day. Her head continued to throb painfully against her skull and the exhaustion from yesterday still hadn't worn off.

She dragged herself to a session of Double Potions behind Harry and Ron, feeling slightly nervous about seeing Professor Snape again. She had intentionally snooped on his conversation with Dumbledore the previous night, and knew that she absolutely couldn't let him find out. Not only would Snape refuse to teach her again, but she would also be betraying Dumbledore's trust.

She leaned against the cold stonewall as they waited for Snape to arrive, and the Slytherins were against the other side of the door as usual, whispering amongst each other. Her gaze automatically drifted to a certain blonde, trying to read his expression as she had always done when they were in the hall.

Draco had his back pressed against the wall, arms crossed and face lowered. She couldn't see him well enough to deduce anything. Had he finished reading the journal? What had he thought? Was he convinced?

Those thoughts came to a sudden halt as she felt a powerful force ram into her mind, resulting in an agonizing collision. Pain burst from her forehead, far stronger than anything she had felt yesterday. A short scream escaped her throat before she could stop it, and her knees buckled to the ground.

"Hermione! Hermione—what happened? What's wrong?"

She did everything in her power to calm her thoughts, recognizing the horrible feeling of having her mind bombarded by Legilimency.

He was here.

Footsteps approached her as she pushed herself to her feet while cradling her head. Why was he attacking her mind now of all times? Had he somehow figured out she was eavesdropping on his conversation the night before?

"Well, well," she heard Snape's voice directly above her. The intrusion ceased for just a moment as he spoke. "If you're about to have a breakdown, Miss Granger, the Infirmary would certainly welcome you more than I."

Hermione curled her lip in refusal, raising her head to meet his gaze. "No, sir. I'm fine."

"Hm." He simply responded, turning away from her.

With a flick of his hand, the classroom door unlocked and swung forward, allowing all the students entrance. She could hear the Slytherins snicker as they passed her, clearly ready to mock her previous actions.

"Hermione, what happened? You sure you're all right?" Harry asked again. Ron grabbed her dropped bag from the ground, handing it to her.

"Yeah," she weakly replied, taking the bag from him. "My head just really hurt all of a sudden. Maybe I really did study too hard last night."

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has something for you—"

"No, Ron," she shook her head, determined to make it through Snape's treatment. This could be part of the lesson for all she knew. "I'll be all right. Let's go in."

Ignoring the worried looks Harry and Ron gave her, she stepped into the classroom, retreating to the far back table where the trio usually sat. They were brewing the Draught of Peace today, and she inwardly groaned at the bad timing. Hermione knew it was a highly advanced potion that required the utmost concentration and patience. Her hands shook slightly as she retrieved the ingredients, watching Snape wave his wand at the Blackboard.

"You have an hour and a half," he instructed. "Begin."

Before Hermione could even grab the first ingredient, she felt her mind fall under attack once more. The classroom blurred from her vision as she tried to defend herself. She bit back a gasp of surprise, trying to empty herself of emotion. She didn't know why Snape was preforming Legilimency on her during class and could only conclude that this was part of her lesson. She theorized that if he wanted information or was suspicious of her, he would have been subtle about his entry, not painfully obvious.

She lowered her head, trying to hide her strained expression with the curtain of her hair. As much as Hermione wanted to scream at the man standing nonchalantly in front of the room, it was a plain fact that she had asked for this: a week of hell learning Occlumency to perfection.

Convincing herself to simply forget the potion, she focused intently, bringing her mind back into that infinite white expanse she had created yesterday. She stored away her memories and emotions, letting it all flow into the river of her being. She felt her mind freeze and her eyes glaze over—she immediately knew that her face had settled into a blank mask.

She didn't even feel Snape withdraw himself from her mind. She was still too lost in the infinite expanse. For a moment, she thought it was rather nice. There was no worry, no war, no pain or suffering. Just her.

"Miss Granger, if you cannot even attempt the potion, it would be in your best interest to leave my class."

Hermione snapped her focus back, watching the potions classroom whirl back before her eyes. She was standing in front of her empty cauldron, her unopened textbook in one hand. Snape was right in front of her, a distasteful sneer marring his mouth. Harry and Ron were watching her worriedly.

"No, sir," she replied quietly, hating how her voice had returned to that flat, cold tone. "I will get started."

"Indeed," he responded through his teeth. "If you find yourself unable to do two simple tasks at once, getting that mind of yours checked out wouldn't be a terrible loss."

The Slytherins laughed, clearly supportive of their Head of House, and Ron looked ready to lunge at him. But Hermione had understood the hidden meaning behind his words.

So he _was _testing her.

The moment Snape turned on his heel; she went to work straight away. After glancing at her watch, she had realized an entire twenty minutes had gone by while she was lost in her Occlumency.

Recalling the blackboard instructions by heart, Hermione sluggishly grabbed her bag of powdered moonstones and added it to her cauldron. Taking her long handled spoon, she began stirring the potion until it turned into a soft green shade.

Just as she was about to grab more ingredients, she felt Snape's Legilimency spell hit her mind. The bag of moonstone fell from her grasp and Hermione felt her awareness be pulled back from reality. The classroom disappeared from her vision—in the next instant, she was standing in the white expanse of her mind.

Now came her test. Hermione had no doubt he was asking her to multi-task. It was easy to simply retreat and defend herself, but until Snape pulled back his invasive spell, she knew she was at a vulnerable state on the outside. She had to not only protect her mind from his spell, but focus on making her potion as well.

Glancing around the area, Hermione crossed her arms in confusion. How on earth was she supposed to leave this protective stretch of her mind while Snape was still present? If she even let one slip of memory pass by, it would be a complete waterfall effect from there.

Unwilling to give up, she closed her eyes in concentration, pushing her limits of reasoning. She had to filter her thoughts—block out everything except for the knowledge needed to complete her potion. She needed to leave the white expanse herself, but keep it functioning while she worked. Clearing her throat, Hermione began reciting the instructions from the blackboard.

"Add powdered moonstone, stir four times clockwise while shaking the powdered porcupine quills vigorously. Let sit for five minutes… Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counter-clockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes and then add two drops of syrup of hellebore…"

Images of her cauldron flashed in front of her. Feeling a glimmer of hope, she thought of all the ingredients, the precise amount of strength she needed to cut the stones. She thought about her unrelenting desire to finish the potion to perfection.

Just as the image was becoming clearer, Snape's classroom raced back into her vision. The smell of mishandled potions immediately filled her nose. Smokes and sparks of all different colors occupied her line of sight. Shaking her head, Hermione reoriented herself, feeling as if she had just woken from a dream.

Staring down at her neglected potion, Hermione picked up her spoon and continued stirring from where she had left off. She could feel nothing but the desire to create and complete the potion. Her hands seemed to be moving on autopilot. Every so often, she would feel Snape's Legilimency spell in her mind, trying to dig up memories and answers. Not letting him get to her, she focused singularly on finishing her potion—she absolutely refused to let him get to her again.

When Hermione noticed a light silver vapor rising from her potion, Snape released his spell. She nearly staggered forward, feeling a heavy weight be lifted from her forehead as if she had been holding an iron weight all through class.

"Time is up," she heard the Potions Master declare. "I want one flagon with a sample of your potion, clearly labeled with your name on my desk. Your homework is twelve inches of the properties and uses of moonstone—to be turned in on Thursday . . . Class dismissed."

The room cluttered with noise as students cleaned up their stations and proceeded to leave and head to lunch. She didn't even see Harry storm off in anger at the first bell, seething that his potion had been vanished and he had been thoroughly humiliated again. Ron soon dashed on after him, eager to get out of the dungeons.

Hermione worked sluggishly, being the last person to drop off her flagon and wipe down her area. She inwardly spoke to herself throughout the entire procedure, trying to defrost her sealed mind.

Her only redemption was the fact that Snape looked worn out as well. Casting a full frontal Legilimency spell wandlessly as well as nonverbally took a lot out of a person, and a tinge of admiration slithered into her heart.

The moment she tumbled out of the classroom, she felt someone grab her forearm and drag her further down the hallway in quick steps. Hermione bit back a shriek as she saw a flash of blonde hair, and nearly tripped over her own feet as he pulled her against the cold wall.

"Draco," she gasped tiredly as he spun to face her. "What are you—"

"What the hell is going on?" he hissed, his stormy eyes searching her. His eyebrows were twisted into a tight knot, and she could have sworn a hint of worry passed through his face.

"Nothing," she forced out, hating how her voice still sounded utterly insincere and flat.

"Don't give me those bloody lies, Granger," he pressed. "You stood for the first twenty minutes of class doing nothing but standing like a statue. Clearly, you—"

"I—what?" she interrupted, actually not having known what she looked like.

"You stood there, unresponsive!" he clarified. "And who hurt you earlier? Tell me what the hell was going on in there."

"No one hurt me," she shook her head, "I was just a little tired is all—"

"Do you think I'm daft? I can perfectly tell when you're—"

"Draco, _please_!" she yelled a little louder than necessary, feeling her emotions begin to break through. "Don't ask me anything right now, _please._"

"Granger…" he lowered his voice, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "You… are you—"

"Can I have your hand?" she blurted, reaching out to him.

He frowned again, his previous train of thought lost. "What?"

"Your hand, Draco," she quieted, realizing that her fingers were shaking slightly. She lifted her palm up as if she was receiving something.

As if he was unsure of his own actions, his fingers lowered onto her palm slowly, then flattened his hand on top of hers.

Hermione immediately felt the difference. Heat shot up her arm and spread all through her chest, melting her occluded mind. Memories and emotions cycled back to her in waves, and she could feel her stony expression cracking rapidly.

When the warmth brushed across her face, she realized she had closed her eyes. Pulling back her lids, she saw that Draco's other hand was now under her chin, his fingers curving against her neck. He suddenly seemed closer, his eyes slightly hazy and downcast.

Hermione didn't know what had taken over her. It might have been a mixture of utter exhaustion and insanity, or the fact that all her suppressed emotions and memories were now resurfacing. Moving on impulse, she wrapped her fingers around his hand and pushed herself off the wall to close the distance between them.

She met his lips slowly and hesitantly, just waiting for him to cringe back and shove her away. His chest rose sharply, but made no move to distance himself; rather, his hand slid around her neck and pulled her towards him. She took in his scent, his taste, the feeling of his fingers pulling up against her bare skin, every heartbeat that radiated through his chest and against hers. She felt blissfully whole, complete, as if her body was just reacting naturally without thought.

As if something in Draco had snapped on, both his hands tore away from her and pushed against her shoulders, separating their contact like they had been torn apart. Her shoulder blades rammed into the stonewall behind her, and he took a definitive step back, bringing a hand to his face.

"This—Granger," he struggled with his words. "We can't—you shouldn't have done that."

Hermione blinked, trying to process his actions just then. Her eyes threatened to spill with the rejection and utter mortification she felt.

"…Why?" she barely whispered, unable to stop herself from asking. "Is—is it because I'm a Mudblo—"

"No! No—I—it's not that—it's…" he trailed off, his face contorting into a restrained expression. "This isn't right… this isn't okay. I've thought about this, Granger, we're different people—"

"Different as in _what_?" she bit her lip, feeling devastation overcome her anger. "As in you're the Pureblood and I'm not? That I'm lower than the dirt—"

"I said no!" he yelled forcefully, slamming his hand into the wall next to her head. "We lead different lives! This isn't supposed to happen—you—me—our paths separate here and now."

"Draco, we aren't bound by some great fate," she argued, cursing the trail of tears that had begun to stain her cheeks. "We can make choices for ourselves. There is no designated path—"

"For you? Maybe. But for me? No." he shook his head. "Some things in life aren't given to us by choice. Not all of us have that luxury—"

"Listen to yourself!" she cried bitterly. "Are you saying this because that's what _you_ believe, or because that's what you've been told?"

"We're on different sides of this _war_!" he cried, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "From the very beginning we've been on opposite sides! Do you think I have the option to walk away?"

Her scream of 'yes' caught in her throat as she met his gaze. She couldn't form the words anymore.

Hermione had been so focused on the idea that he was walking down his father's steps because he had _wanted_ to; she had forgotten the fact that he wasn't ever given anything else. For Draco, all he had was his pure blood and his last name, what else was taught to be important to him?

There was no other step for him to follow.

Her tears were pouring down without restraint now, slipping over her eyes every time she blinked and staining her collar. Her chest felt tight and burdensome, each breath she took was painful to her own lungs.

"I… I don't want us to be enemies," she whispered, trying to place all her emotions into her words.

Draco lifted his hand as if to wipe at her cheeks, when his fingers froze in the air, realizing his actions. Retracting his hand back, he looked away from her.

"This isn't a circumstance that we can change," he responded just as quietly. "No amount of words can make this work…"

For a moment, a thick silence settled between them, neither able to utter another word. Hermione choked back her ragged breaths in an effort to stop her tears. She felt as if she had been torn and put back together incorrectly, a pain much more stronger than any Occlumency headache burst in her chest, making it hard to breath.

"Granger…"

Unwilling to hear another word from Draco's mouth, Hermione pivoted on her heel and dashed out of his grasp, grabbing onto her flying book bag. She felt angry and betrayed, but mostly she felt… _weak. _Weak for letting her personal emotions overcome her duty to him. She knew in her mind that it was logically wrong to be upset, but she still couldn't stop the onslaught of emotions.

"Granger, wait!"

Hermione didn't turn or look back. She couldn't face him as she was right now. There were too many unspoken words right at her tongue, ready to break out at the slightest trigger. She wouldn't risk it. Risk him.

Knowing that everyone had gone down to lunch, Hermione trudged herself to the Gryffindor tower, wiping her eyes every time another trail of tears slipped over. She couldn't even give an exact reason for them. All she could feel was heart-wrenching sorrow weighing down her chest, Draco's words bouncing between her ears.

"Oh dear, what happened to you?"

Hermione lifted her head, finally realizing that she had been standing in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. The painting regarded her with a sad pout.

"Did you forget the password?" she asked. "No need to cry, I'm sure someone will come around."

At this, Hermione ran the back of her hand against her tear sodden eyes, a feeling of failure settling in the pit of her stomach.

"No—I—I just—" she stammered out.

"There, there, don't cry," the Fat Lady chided. "I was only _joking_. I recognize you—you always are the one to remember the passwords. What has tugged on your heart strings, dear?"

Sniffling, Hermione released her chewed lip and sighed.

"Boys, isn't it?" the Fat Lady raised an eyebrow. "Don't fret, I know just the person—Violet! Violet, get over here! Emergency!"

Before Hermione could even protest, a young woman popped into the portrait. She was dressed in a blue one-piece, a large brimmed hat on top of her blonde hair, and her lips were painted a deep red.

"Oh, what is it?" the new painting asked. "Don't tell me you called me over without any alcohol in hand?"

"Emergency, Vi," The Fat Lady waved a hand. "I have a distressed girl here with a broken heart! You've seen her! Tears do not fit that intelligent face of hers!"

Violet turned to Hermione with wide eyes. "Oh yes, I do recognize that face of yours… and why—"

"Boys!" The Fat Lady reminded. "One look, Vi, I could tell her heart had been broken—"

"No, that's not—" Hermione tried to cut in, not wanting to think of the rejection.

"An arrogant toe-rag wasn't he?" Violet nodded vehemently, turning to her. "A complete, insensible bastard that couldn't tell you the meaning of caring for another soul. Boys like them—not worth your time, dear."

Hermione cringed, realizing it was nearly the perfect definition of Draco.

"Ooh, sounds like the exact description of Myron, doesn't it?" The Fat Lady interceded, raising her eyebrows.

Violet turned on her friend so quickly that Hermione thought the two of them would tumble out of the frame.

"Never! Myron may have been a bit rough around the edges, but he had a good heart," Violet defended, crossing her arms.

"Must we talk about this again?" The Fat Lady rolled her eyes. "He was a complete arse to his townspeople—no wonder the man lived alone—"

"He was _lonely_!" Violet protested. "He was a good man that simply grew up in the wrong environment. I admit, he could be a bit of a pathetic coward sometimes, but he learned and changed. I can't even tell you how utterly loyal… and protective… and simply charming he was once he opened up to me…"

"Oh spare me the gushy details."

"You only say that because you've never met the man," she continued dreamily. "He had grown up in such a loveless world before he and I met, I had to be the one to instigate everything. And simply… love him endlessly."

"In case you've forgotten, _Violet_," the Fat Lady scrunched her nose. "You're supposed to be helping me comfort the poor girl, not retelling your life story."

Violet raised her chin in a pout. "Please, you only say that because you can't remember your past life—"

"Oh, you outrageous—"

"Wait!" Hermione shouted, extending an arm to stop the Fat Lady from throwing a cup at poor Violet. The two women turned to her, clearly having forgotten her presence. She cleared her dry throat, trying to sound a bit more composed. "C-Could I ask you something, Violet?"

The blonde woman raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Call me Vi instead, then yes, you can."

"Er, all right—Vi," she corrected. "Well this Myron man… were you ever rejected by him?"

Violet snorted. "Too many times, dear. I would run out of fingers and toes if I were to count them all."

"And yet… you still—well, loved him?" she asked quietly.

Her blue eyes softened. "Yes, of course. You see, Myron could never really reject me fully, even though he would stop my advances—we both knew that he didn't actually mean it. He was a man who couldn't tell you the definition of love, for he never really understood it himself—or received it… the poor man… Anyway, that's the trick with men like him. Most of the time, they can't even tell you what they want themselves, much less read your heart. You simply have to be patient and believe that he'll grow to love you back—in his own way."

Hermione let Vi's words sink in, watching the woman's eyes grow soft and emotional. Even for a painting, it was amazing how much of Violet's real love had transferred into a work of art combined with some spells—almost as if it was the real thing.

"I see…" she mumbled in response, letting her tattered mind slow down.

"Ooh, now look what you've done!" the Fat Lady made a face. "She's become all depressed—"

"No, no!" Hermione shook her head, giving both portraits a small smile. "I was just thinking. And actually, I have to thank you, both of you. For your story and your words… it meant a lot to me, really."

Both women looked at each other in surprise, then turned back to Hermione. The Fat Lady was looking rather proud, Violet simply smiled back.

"Well then, I suppose you want to go in?" the painting raised an eyebrow. "We've babbled long enough. And the password?"

Hermione released a steadying breath before turning to face both portraits.

"Brave of heart."

.

When night fell, Hermione tended to Harry's transfiguration essay, reading over the report multiple times while adding in important parts that he had missed. After leaving him satisfied with his work, Hermione bade him goodnight and retreated to the walls of her dorm room.

She pulled out the Time Turner, spinning the hourglass three times on its axis, and closed her eyes. She had convinced herself to use the magical instrument just this one time, reasoning that learning Occlumency ultimately involved helping Draco; therefore she was justified in using it.

Hermione landed in an empty hallway near the Gryffindor tower. She checked her watch, satisfied that it had read 5:50. She casted the disillusionment charm on instinct, and began her journey down to Snape's office.

She knew as she arrived at the oak doors, her decision for Draco had been made. Never had he once said he didn't want her back. His continuous issue lay in the fact of his so-called destiny and she silently swore to herself that she would smash that road to pieces and carve him a new one.

Raising her hand, she knocked against the hard wood twice, giving herself a moment before pulling the door open.

"Professor Snape?" she called quietly into the room.

His office was in perfect order once again, as if the events from the previous night hadn't happened. Flasks were repaired, cabinets were placed in their proper positions, and potions were still in the middle of their brewing.

Snape, once again, seemed to melt out of the shadows as he approached the desk. His face was settled into an unreadable mask, his black eyes boring into hers.

"Miss Granger," he muttered.

"Good evening, sir," she nodded, solidifying her resolve.

He strode over to his desk, pointing to the chair on the other side. "Sit down."

She did as he asked, and quietly set herself down on the cushy seat.

"Now using that brain of yours once again, Miss Granger," he began, "tell me what had occurred in class this morning."

Swallowing back her anxiety, Hermione nodded. "Occlumency forces the user to fall into a deep secluded state in their mind with no impact on reality, especially while Legilimency is being performed. This becomes a major handicap in the cases when conflicts are not one-on-one. Or in my case, where tasks needed to be done."

Snape's upper lip curled, but he couldn't seem to find any criticism to make. "Legilimency attacks are not frontal and obvious. They will come in secret, underhanded ways while you are often preoccupied with other things. Learning to filter unnecessary thoughts is highly crucial for survival."

"Yes, sir," she agreed quietly.

"Now, let us return to your ever bold declaration yesterday evening," he pulled out his wand slowly. "You desire a mind so strong not even the Dark Lord himself could penetrate it… correct?"

She felt the air drop in temperature. "Yes, sir."

"Then understand this," he hissed lowly. "Those who face the Dark Lord are never in their right minds. They are never prepared or well fitted to live a moment longer—in other words, protecting their minds do not come easily when they are under an Imperious, or a Cruciatus curse…"

Hermione stopped herself from taking a sharp breath. It had sounded as if he was speaking from experience.

"So now, I will give you the generous option…" Snape waved his wand. She heard a clatter behind him as two small bottles came flying out of the shelf. They landed on his desk with a soft rap.

She stared at both bottles, feeling a bubble of dread in the pit of her stomach. Her hands began to shake slightly, having a good idea of what he was about to offer.

"Open the left flask," he ordered.

Trying to calm her nerves, Hermione reached out to the darker bottle, and popped out the cork with her fingers. Her stomach immediately churned in reaction at the familiar smell.

"And the interior is…? He raised an eyebrow.

Hermione bit her tongue. "Doxy poison."

She had remembered the noxious smell from decontaminating Sirius' house all summer. And now she was about to face it again.

"And here is my ever so generous option," Snape spoke again, leaning forward on his desk. "You can either take back your mighty words from yesterday and leave my office… or you can drink this."

Hermione raised her head, meeting his sharp gaze. She was scared—hell, she was close to losing her mind. Drinking a bottle of poison was not what she had in mind for the night; it was a lucky decision she had decided to help Harry first. As if noticing her hesitation, a soft snort escaped from the Potions Master.

"A weak heart will get you nowhere," he hissed lowly. "If you are going to stick to your foolish words then at least commit to them wholeheartedly!"

Memories of the afternoon rushed forward, and Draco's face came into the forefront of her mind.

_You can't do anything for me… _

Anger coursed through her. Hermione had already made up her mind, but now she was hesitating like a child. Maybe she really did have a weak heart.

Gripping the glass bottle tighter, she brought the opening to her lips and poured the contents down her throat in one swift motion. The poison immediately burned her esophagus, causing her to drop the empty flask as a silent scream built in her mind. Hermione gasped and doubled over in her chair, blinking back the tears of pain that welled in her eyes.

Too caught up in her own agony, she had missed the look of utter surprised that had flashed through Snape's features.

"How long is the potency time of Doxy poison, Miss Granger?"

Groaning, Hermione forced her chin to rise, trying to find the muscles near her mouth to move. "Half… an… hour…"

Snape pointed his wand at her, and stood from his seat. "Then you better find the will to repel me within that time frame—lest this antidote will be sitting at your grave."

Hermione pushed off her own seat, nearly falling over on her shaking legs, her lungs burning for breath. She tried to empty her mind of emotion, trying to forget the pain, the burning, and her shaking hands—nothing seemed to work.

"Brace yourself…" he warned, "_Legilimens_!"

* * *

A/N: You may blame Severus Snape for the extra slips of dramatics now (plus that fluttering cape of his? Done). Funnily enough, Severus is the only character that I don't do any planning for before I write. He literally just speaks through my fingers as I type, it's a bit surreal. Also, I promise he isn't trying to murder Hermione with poison. Doxy poison was used in Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes (remember they collected it at Sirius's house?), so it's not automatically lethal or anything.

I also adore writing the Fat Lady. I'm a bit sad we didn't get much about her, but it's understandable. Violet and Myron are actual characters (via Pottermore) and not OC's. I simply twisted their love story for my own purposes.

This chapter originally wasn't going to be so angsty, then, everything changed when the fire nation - just kidding, but I really did tweak it after a realization that Zuko and Draco were quite similar. More than victims of circumstance, Zuko was just so focused on his destiny and regaining his honor, he really didn't believe there was another road for him to take until he got some sense slapped into him. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go watch _Avatar: The Last Airbender. _Asap.

A final shout out to all my tumblr extraordinaires, or wherever else you all come from. Hop on, the journey's just started.

El


	20. Twice Discovered

Disclaimer: I've been listening to the HP film soundtracks recently, and by Merlin's Beard, I forgot how good they were. _Lily's Theme _and _Courtyard Apocalypse _are two of my favorite from the final movie at the moment, and I give the entire symphony my full recommendation if you're into soundtrack music. And I don't own HP of course.

* * *

Chapter 20: Twice Discovered

.

Hermione didn't understand how she was still standing. Frankly, the past two days might as well have been an incredibly realistic figment of her imagination.

She had utterly failed Snape's test on Monday night, only finding herself able to repel him within the last two minutes of approaching death's door. Either the Doxy poison had spread much faster than she thought, or she had once again lost all track of time as she was stuck in the expanse of her mind. She tried to forget the overwhelming feeling of mortification as Snape had to quite literally force-feed the antidote to her. Her ego already damaged, she had blatantly refused to go see Madam Pomfrey and simply dragged herself to the Gryffindor Tower after hours. It was a miracle no one had seen her.

Harry however, causally commented the next morning on how she smelled like Sirius' curtains at Grimmauld Place. She had smacked him on the arm, grumbling about how her best friend had no tact whatsoever.

The day after that, Snape had tossed her a bottle of sleeping draught and ordered her to drink it all, insisting that she learn how to keep her shields up even as she slept. Hermione had completely overlooked that fact. If she was ever stunned to unconsciousness or forced to sleep, her mind would be incredibly vulnerable to attacks.

"Using Occlumency at a subconscious level does not simply apply to stopping a Legilimens while unaware," Snape had said, "But if trained enough, you can use it to control your dreams… and block out unwanted memories that may resurface."

Hermione had caught the inner lying message. Occlumency helped to block out nightmares—events that she didn't want to remember, or even trauma that had occurred. She briefly wondered if Professor Snape used Occlumency for nightmares, then banished the ridiculous notion from her head. He would not be pleased if he were to ever come across that thought during her lessons.

On Wednesday night, Hermione had elected to skip the D.A meeting. She knew it would be suicide to spend the hours preforming complex spells, effectively tiring her magic, then turn back the time to face Snape. He would no doubt break her defense within the minute.

After another hard lesson with the Potions Master had ended, she pulled her exhausted body from his office and bid him goodnight.

They had gone over the subtleties that evening—how to filter your memories and emotions to the point where the attacker didn't know she was actually using Occlumency. Professor Snape had made a realistic point about making it seem as if she wasn't hiding anything. The moment a Legilimens realized they were being blocked from certain memories, it would be too easy for them to focus on specific part of her mind.

Trying to crack the ice of her Occlumency as fast as possible, Hermione made her way to the Gryffindor tower, ready to get a good night's rest. She smiled at the Fat Lady as she passed and stepped into the common room.

The place was in chaos.

Everyone inside were clearly out of breath like they had ran a marathon, or shouting at each other in mild hysterics. She spotted Seamus yelling at Dean in the corner of the room, clutching his hair and shaking his head madly; Ginny was doing her best to calm down Hermione's roommates, Parvati and Lavender; Angelina was arguing with Cormac McLaggen about something that sounded awfully suspicious like being banned from Quidditch and Ron was in the center of it all, trying to yell over everyone.

Nobody seemed to notice Hermione walk in. Unable to get anyone to tell her what was going on, she snapped out her wand and shot a red spark into the air, exploding and crackling loud enough for everyone to abruptly stop what they were doing and turn to her.

"Somebody tell me what in Merlin's name is going on!" she demanded. "Where's Harry?"

"Hermione!" Ron spoke up first, walking over to her. "We've been compromised—Harry hasn't come yet and I think he got caught, I don't know—"

"Compromised?" Hermione nearly shrieked, feeling her eyes widen. "To Umbridge?"

"Yes!" he said impatiently. "Dobby came to inform us just before she arrived with a bunch of Slytherins—" Hermione inwardly cringed, hoping that Draco hadn't been part of that group. "—And Harry told us to run, but we know a few of us had been caught—"

"And the list, Hermione!" Ginny interrupted. "I saw Pansy Parkinson walk out with the parchment that we signed in Hog's Head that day! It has _all_ of our names on it—"

A short wail escaped from someone at her words.

"—Getting expelled isn't the least of our worries, right now—"

"And where's Harry?" she asked for the second time, feeling anxious. "Did Umbridge catch him?"

A thick silence settled in the air.

"We think so," Ron finally mumbled out. "It been nearly a half-hour and he still hasn't shown up."

"I think he was the last to leave," Angelina sighed.

"And we still don't know how we were tipped off!" Ron exclaimed, clearly frustrated. "Somebody _had_ to have betrayed us…"

More arguing ensued.

"Is that even the real issue right now?" Ginny frowned at her brother. "We need to think of a way to defend Harry—"

"Harry's not here right now," Seamus interjected, "and I reckon if it's really Umbridge who got him, defending him isn't possible! She'll have him expelled by the hour!"

"Exactly why we need to figure out what happened," Ron said. "The one who told on us would know what happened to him."

"Look, just think of the people who didn't come to today's meeting," Dean suggested over the noise. "I'm pretty sure there were only a handful."

Ginny slightly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, like who?"

"Let's start with the obvious," Seamus narrowed his eyes. "Hermione, where were you today?"

All eyes seemed to turn on her and Hermione froze in place. Whether it was the shocking fact that she was being considered the sneak, or the fact that she knew she didn't have a good enough excuse at the moment, startled her still. She opened her mouth to speak, trying to meet everyone's eyes.

"Are you serious?" she blinked, trying to hide her shock. "You think _I _betrayed you guys? Really?"

"We're not pointing any fingers here," Seamus frowned, giving her a strange look. "But that fact that you're not answering the question is a little… odd."

Hermione bit down on her tongue, trying to remember how she got herself in such a position. She couldn't say she was learning Occlumency with Snape and she knew nobody would believe her if she used Harry's excuse of Remedial Potions—she couldn't even say she was studying at the library.

"Look," she swallowed back her temper. "What I did tonight is none of your business and I have every right to keep that to myself, but really you guys? _Me? _Betray Harry of all people? I'm a little hurt—"

"Well could you just tell us where you were, so we didn't have to make such a crazy assumption?"

"I can't believe…" she breathed, turning to her redheaded best friend. "Ron, you honestly don't think this right?"

"Of course not!" he immediately snapped. "Stop it guys, Hermione would never betray us."

"I agree," Neville quietly inputted.

"Then just answer the sodding question will you—"

"She doesn't have to answer anything!" Ginny interrupted, stepping in with an angry look on her face. "The fact that you guys are questioning her loyalty to us is absurd! Hermione was the one who first thought of Dumbledore's Army in case any of you dimwitted heads have forgotten."

"Well I agree with Seamus," Lavender piped up, frowning at Hermione. "You know you've been a bit suspicious since Sunday? Getting in after curfew and not speaking to anyone… You've been colder to us, Hermione, you know that? Even now you sound—"

"That's only because—" she stopped herself, unable to give them a proper excuse. She knew even if she tried to explain the side effects of Occlumency, none of them would believe her.

"You complete _cow_!" Ginny yelled furiously at Lavender. "Hermione doesn't have to justify anything! The fact that—"

Lavender spluttered. "Don't call me that, Ginny Weasley! You're also—"

"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?"

All eyes turned to the open portrait door, spotting a clearly confused Harry Potter. He huffed in disbelief as the common room quieted again, then glanced at her and Ron.

"Harry!" Hermione was the first to recover. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm all right but you guys—"

"It's nothing," she quickly waved a hand. "Just tell us what happened! We were worried…"

A dark look passed over his face. "Umbridge got to me and took me to Professor Dumbledore's office where Fudge was waiting… and he—oh god, he… Dumbledore took the fall for us…"

Nobody seemed to understand but Hermione. "Our name…" she whispered. "He took the blame for us by saying it was _his _army?"

Harry only nodded.

Hermione's stomach churned in a mixture of guilt and sorrow. Their foolish actions had caused Dumbledore to compromise his position.

"And the person who betrayed us?" Dean asked, cutting the silence.

Harry lifted his face, a look of absolute anger in his features. "A Ravenclaw girl, Marietta Edgecombe."

Confusion and surprise passed through everyone's faces. Hermione saw Ginny throw a scalding look at Lavender and Seamus, who in turn found the hem of their robes suddenly interesting.

"Look… Hermione, Ron can I talk to you guys?" he turned to everyone else in the common room. "Uhm—privately if we could."

A few people looked as if they wanted to protest, but the rest of them nodded in understanding. It seemed like Harry's authority was still being listened to even outside of D.A meetings.

After the common room had emptied out to satisfaction, Harry turned to her and Ron, a sigh a frustration escaping his throat.

"Let me explain what happened…"

.

Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight had appeared overnight, filling up every inch of the corridors, classrooms and even the Great Hall. Hermione had not been surprised to hear whispers of what happened between Umbridge and Professor Dumbledore—rumors always had a knack of going around no matter how tightly it was contained.

Fred and George had pulled the last straw with Dumbledore's leaving and instigated one of the greatest acts of destruction Hermione had ever seen in her years at Hogwarts. Fireworks of all shapes and sizes filled the hallways and classrooms throughout the day, Umbridge had been utterly fuming and distressed by the time her first day of being the Headmistress was over.

"Brilliant," she told the twins in the Gryffindor common room after lunch. "I am thoroughly impressed with all this."

"You? The perfect prefect?" they both spoke. "Impressed?"

She crossed her arms. "I know when to compliment brilliant spell work you know."

Fred turned to his brother. "I think we've just met our life goal, George. We've impressed her!"

Rolling her eyes at their sarcasm, Hermione lit a mini firework and released it into the air.

"Don't even talk about being a Prefect," Ron inputted next to her. "Not after the stunt Malfoy pulled this morning—him and his Inquisitorial Squad—blasted little prats."

"Idiots they may be," George said, "you just have to get them before they can get you."

"What do you mean 'get them'?" Ron raised a skeptical eyebrow. "We can't exactly dock points back."

Fred shrugged. "Well Montague tried yesterday night—"

"—But we kicked him head first into the Vanishing Cabinet before he could dock points," George finished. "It's as simple as that."

Ron broke out in laughter while Hermione gaped at them, unable to believe they had actually done such a thing. It could possibly take days for the Slytherin to reappear and most of the time, they would appear in random, unseen places.

Inwardly shaking her head, she grabbed another small firework from the pile, picked up her bag and proceeded to Ancient Runes. There were heavier things she needed to weigh her mind on.

When six o'clock came for the fifth time that week, Hermione calmed her thoughts and made her way down to Snape's office. She again, had no idea what kind of concoction he was going to give her next. Approaching the familiar oak door, she knocked twice and entered.

"Professor Snape," she greeted quietly, her eyes darting to his potion-free desk. "Good evening."

He was already at his desk, his fingers laced together and a cold expression on his face. "Sit down, Miss Granger."

She took the seat quietly, folding her hands on her lap and meeting his gaze.

"Today, you will attempt to block not only your memories, but mine as well," Snape began. "Were you aware that a Legilimens could have such abilities?"

Feeling a sense of inadequacy settle in her stomach, she shook her head. "No, sir."

"Of course," he replied stiffly. "Such skills are imparted to a select few, who have taken the art to the next level. It is also how false memories can be implanted into someone's mind after they have been _obliviated._"

"So that means Vol—I mean, _he_ is able to preform it, sir?" Hermione inquired. "And that's how he's been sending Harry visions?"

Snape's eye twitched. "From your words, Miss Granger, I can only assume Potter hasn't been using that decorative brain of his for Occlumency. He's been experiencing _more _visions?"

Hermione gulped. She had just sold out her best friend by accident.

"No, sir," she corrected quickly. "I had meant previously… before he started his lessons with you."

He narrowed his eyes in obvious disbelief, but didn't push the matter any longer. "Hm. Whatever the case, I do not wish to stain this conversation with Potter's name any longer… Prepare yourself, we shall begin."

Snape pulled out his wand and pointed at her face, a determined slant in his eyes. Hermione immediately emptied her thoughts, preparing herself for the onslaught.

"_Legilimens_!"

She had been ready before he had struck, falling into her shields just as he penetrated her mind. For a calm moment, all Hermione did was stand in silence, feeling her memories and emotions flow under her feet, untouchable by anyone else. She could feel Snape's mind roam around the area, prodding the river of memories to see if they were accessible. It seemed that she had passed that test.

The next attack came before Hermione noticed. Before she could stop it, her white world spun out of sight as if she was being taken through an apparition travel. In the next instant, her feet hit hard marble floor and she reached out with her hands to steady her fall.

The room she had landed in was dark and bone chilling; shivers ran up her spine and she tightened her fists. There were a few torches hung high on the old walls, bouncing orange light between her eyes. There were no windows, and to Hermione's horror, no doors in sight. A long meeting table stood in the middle of the room with large decorative chairs on each side. The whole place made her stomach clench with anxiety.

Hermione padded the ground beneath her, feeling her breath catch when the marble felt utterly real. She experimentally clutched her fingers into a fist, realizing with a sickening sense that everything seemed and felt normal—a perfect copy of reality.

That's when she saw him.

He was sitting at the very front of the room on a large chair far greater than the others, his ruby red eyes shining though the dark shadows. A black robe hung from his shoulders and trailed onto the seat where it billowed out behind his legs. His long bony fingers were resting at his sides; a black wand nestled in his right hand.

Suddenly the air felt much more cold. Hermione couldn't move. She couldn't even find the words to speak. Fear filled her heart before she could stop it. She didn't know how she had recognized him, but it was unmistakable. His mere presence had suddenly made things much more real.

"Come forward," he called out, beckoning with his hand.

His voice made her shudder instinctively and she clutched her arms tightly. A cloaked figure seemed to appear out of nowhere to her left. The person took a few steps forward and lifted something from the floor before them.

Hermione choked back a scream as she laid eyes on her green-eyed best friend. Harry was being raised into the air by the cloaked figure, clearly struggling and gasping for breath.

"Harry!" she screamed out, pushing her legs to move. She ran towards him with her hands outstretched.

Just as she was about to grab him, her fingers slipped through his body as if he was made of smoke. Hermione tumbled onto the floor painfully, startling her mind into shock.

This wasn't her memory. This wasn't real.

Trying to focus on that thought, Hermione clamped her eyes shut. She tried everything in her power to empty her mind once again and realize that none of this was a real memory.

She gasped as she felt the temperature in the room drop even lower. Her shoulders began to shake uncontrollably as fear crept into her heart again.

"Harry Potter…"

_No! NO! This isn't real! Suppress it!_

The torches seemed to grow smaller as the room was rapidly taken over by shadows. Hermione looked over her shoulder in horror, seeing dozens of more cloaked figures standing behind her. They donned silver masks that resembled skulls; a vicious, cold laugher began ringing through the entire room.

A bloodcurdling scream suddenly filled the air. Hermione whipped her head back to Harry, finding his mouth torn open in agony, his body shaking and twitching without his regard.

"Stop! STOP! PLEASE!" she pleaded, feeling her eyes water with devastation.

More and more cloaked people appeared around her, the laugher in the air was rising.

Hermione crumpled to the floor, gasping and clutching her head. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.

Harry's scream pierced her thoughts. She could feel absolute terror grip her heart, pounding against her chest like a never-ending nightmare.

_Emotions, Miss Granger! _Snape's words rang in her mind. _If you care, you will create emotional strings, then you will never be able to master yourself! Do not allow yourself to fall into that cycle. Denial is not enough. You must completely detach yourself. _

The ripple in her sea froze. She could practically feel her soul ice over with the cold realization.

Hermione replayed Snape's words again and again until Harry's screams of pain were drowned out. She let him go.

Voices grew distant.

The dark room began fading from her eyes.

The next moment, Snape's office came whirling back sideways. Hermione felt something hard and cold pressed against the right side of her body and she slowly realized that the office hadn't flipped. She had simply fallen over.

Short gasps escaped her throat as her chest rose and fell much too quickly; her whole body was shaking as if she could still feel the cold from the memory. Her face was stained with tears and sweat and her hair stuck to her skin in patches.

"You took too long, Miss Granger," she heard Snape above her. "Hesitation makes you weak. Emotions make you weak. You cannot hold onto them and expect progress with this."

He was right.

Now that she could think straight, a sense of failure lingered in the forefront of her mind. She had fallen for his false implant nearly right away. In hindsight, Snape had never taught her what to look for regarding foreign memories, so she had walked into the lesson blindfolded. A small part of her still bristled at the thought, irritated that she hadn't been fast enough to figure out his earlier hint.

Before Hermione could find her response, the door to Snape's office opened with a quiet rattle.

"Professor Snape, sir? Umbridge needs—"

Hermione didn't need to hear another word to know whom that voice belonged to. The blood in her veins froze as she heard him take a sharp breath, clearly having seen the both of them.

She could only imagine the scene in his eyes, walking into his Head of House's office and finding her collapsed on the ground and Snape standing above her with his wand out.

"Draco," Snape said sternly. "Listen to me—"

"Granger!" Footsteps pounded towards her. Her vision was blurry from a mixture of her tears and her unfocused mind; she could hardly react to a set of hands reaching out to her face. "What the hell—"

"Draco! I said _listen_!" Snape said again, cutting off the stream of curses that were coming from the blonde's mouth.

"What is this?" he demanded, his voice barely below a yell. "Why is Granger here? Why does she look like _this_?"

Snape released an aggravated grunt. "Draco, you will tell me what her holiness Umbridge needs, then you will let Miss Granger _go_, lest you break her mind and leave this office, _now_."

The venom in his voice was so sharp, Hermione felt her subconscious cringe away.

"Sir, you…" Draco quieted all of a sudden, his grip on her shoulders tightening. "You couldn't possibly be…"

Snape sighed through his nose.

"I thought I smelled poison from her the other day, but I didn't believe…" Hermione heard him take a sharp breath. "Let me guess, you've already used a sleeping draught haven't you, sir? What's today? Filtering thoughts? False memories? Is this really an exact copy of _my_ regime? For her of all—"

"Draco that is _enough_!" Snape raised his voice dangerously, waving his wand. "You will tell me what you came in for before I silence you and throw you out myself!"

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. Hermione could see Draco's face struggle, his lip curled in obvious vexation.

"Montague's been found, sir," Draco spoke through his teeth. "In the fourth floor toilets; Umbridge asked for your help."

"And how in Salazar's name did he get there?" Snape asked, displeasure still lingering in his tone.

"No idea, sir. He seems utterly confused."

An irritated scowl marred the older wizard's face as another quiet grunt left him. "Very well then. Draco, you be on your way—Miss Granger, get up at once_._"

"Professor you haven't given me your answer," Draco spoke up, his angry expression retuning. "Why have you been using my Occlumency regime for her? You told me you created it explicitly for me—an extreme case—so that I could master it in one week before I had to meet—"

"That's quite enough now," Snape snarled, his tenor making no room for arguments.

Hermione felt Draco's body tense under hers and it was then she remembered what a truly terrifying wizard Professor Snape could be. She forced her shaking hands to move and gently placed them over his, lifting them off her face. Her breathing had returned somewhat normal, but her face and body were still covered in her sweat.

"Draco," she finally said, incapable of hiding her exhaustion. "It's okay, just go—"

"Granger, you shut up," he demanded, not looking at her. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do," she argued quietly, pushing herself from the floor with great difficulty. "You need to go."

"Another senseless word from that mouth of yours, I swear—"

"Both of you, out of my office," Snape interrupted, stepping closer to them. "You are merely wasting my time with your childish behavior."

He grabbed Hermione's upper arm in an iron grip and pulled her into the air with ease. She held back a groan as her head exploded with pain from getting up too fast and her legs threatened to collapse under her.

Before she could fall miserably, Hermione grabbed the edge of Snape's desk for support and took a steadying breath.

"Then—good night, sir," she mumbled out, seeing black spots dance before her eyes. "Until tomorrow—"

"There is no tomorrow for you, Granger," Draco cut in, grabbing her free hand and yanking her from Snape's desk. "Let's go."

Hermione tumbled out of the Potion Master's office as Draco rudely shoved the door open with his other hand. He dragged her out with him, ignoring all her attempts to get him to listen. The damn Slytherin!

"Draco, please," she tugged her hand for the third time as they started to hit the stairs. Her vision was still unfocused. "You're walking too fas—"

Before she could even finish the sentence, he spun on his heel while pulling her hand towards him. Hermione nearly screamed as his arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her into the air, throwing her body over his shoulder. She felt his hands hold her securely as he started to walk even faster, plowing through the steps of the castle.

"Draco," she grunted, unable to see anything but his back. "T-This isn't what I meant! What are you doing—we're going to be seen!"

His grip near her waist tightened. "I don't particularly care at the moment. Just do me a favor and shut up."

Holding back a startled scream as he took a sharp left, Hermione tried not to have a reunion with her dinner via Draco's robes. Her head was still throbbing from being tossed and turned the last hour; being thrown over someone's shoulder definitely wasn't helping.

"Honestly, you can let me down," she called, her voice bouncing in octaves as he continued to climb the stairs. "I can walk on my own."

"No," he retorted sharply, leaving no room for her to argue.

He trekked another few floors, occasionally readjusting his grip.

"Where are you even going?" she asked, trying not to think about her strange position. When had Draco gotten this big? She had thought his shoulders were much more small.

Her question was answered when he began to pace in a certain hallway with Barnabas and his dancing trolls, and then turned around to push open the dark wooden door.

The Room of Requirement was the same as always when they were together, illuminated by the natural lighting from the large window above his desk. She felt Draco shift his arms under her at they neared the bed, grabbing her waist again. He lifted her from his shoulder and unceremoniously tossed her off.

Hermione landed on his fluffy sheets with a quiet 'oomph', rubbing her arm and her stomach from all the manhandling. Her temper threatened to flare at him, but her exhaustion was winning in waves. She met his eyes tiredly, feeling confused when all she could see was anger, rage and something unmistakably like concern.

She bristled. "Why are you so angr—"

"Do you want to die or are you just _utterly stupid_?" he yelled suddenly, cutting her off.

"Wha—"

"Why are you taking Occlumency with Snape?" he asked aggressively. "Did you ask him or did he ask you? Even more, you could have died—"

"Oh, don't start acting like you actually care about whether I live or die," Hermione snapped back, feeling a rush of bitter anger take control.

"You don't get it!" he accused. "What you're doing—"

"I _know_ what I'm doing!" she defended. "And you don't care anyway, why should you—"

"I care!" he threw his hands in the air, raising his voice again. "There! You happy? I bloody well care!"

Stunned into silence, Hermione felt her retort hanging from her parted lips. That was the last thing she had expected to hear.

"Granger," He ran his fingers through his hair tensely, a restrained sigh escaping his throat. "Do you have any idea—when I walked into that office—what I had thought—"

"Draco—"

"Do you have _any _idea?" he repeated, his eyes wide with rage.

She bit her tongue to contain her shock, never having seen him so open—so strangely vulnerable.

"I care too," she said quietly, feeling her suppressed emotions resurface again. "About you, Draco—I at least want to protect your words without the fear of someone seeing them in my mind. I just…"

Draco cradled his face in his palms, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

"Dammit, it's not you," he breathed. "It's me! It's me, Granger… I don't trust myself enough—just one slip in front of _him_—I couldn't handle—"

"Then trust in _me_," she said firmly. She gently tucked her hands near the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her. "Trust in me who trusts in you."

His grey eyes flickered to her face, expression visibly loosening from his previous anger. He gave a long, weary exhale.

"Granger, you're breaking my resolve."

"Then let it break," she said simply. "Stop trying to face this alone. Honestly, it's all right to rely on someone."

He looked distant. "It's not that easy."

"Of course it's not," she retorted, feeling oddly lightheaded. "Nothing that's worthwhile is easy, but that doesn't mean you give up."

The corner of his lips quirked. "Something you're rather stupidly good at."

Before Hermione could giver her snarky reply, her vision blurred as a wave of dizziness hit her hard. Her breathing hitched and her hands fell from his face, unable to find the energy to keep them up.

Eyes widening in alarm, Draco stepped forward, grabbing her falling frame before she tumbled off the bed.

"Granger," he shook her shoulders, voice laced with concern. "Look at me."

Hermione felt her lids close, no matter how hard she tried to stay conscious. It seemed as if her mind was done. Staying awake was doing more harm than good.

"It's fine…" she forced out, feeling her breathing slow down. "Just… tired…"

He huffed, pushing her towards the center of the bed. "If Professor Snape did even _half _of what I think he did, your mind is going to go on lockdown for the next few hours. Move and I _will_ hex you."

She would have rolled her eyes if she had any energy left.

"Will you stay?" she whispered, trying to meet his gaze. She didn't know where the sudden boldness came from, but it extended to her hand as she reached out to graze his fingers.

Either he had never responded, or Hermione wasn't able to hear his reply on time. Darkness finally consumed her.

* * *

A/N: I'm almost feeling a little pressured over here with the amount of eyes on this story now, but thank you to everyone who dropped by with your support. Your reviews/messages really pulled me through as I struggled with a bit of writer's block getting this chapter done.

I'd say a good portion of the denial and angst between Hermione and Draco has passed for now, but I can only imagine the dynamic shift when sixth year comes... People do strange things when they're backed into a corner with their life on the line. However, that's also when I'm going to be changing bits of the canon plot, so expect a little adjustments.

I have one more month until my quarter is over, so hopefully updates will come faster once June hits. Again, leave me with your thoughts on your way out!

El


	21. As You Are

Disclaimer: I sadly, still do not own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 21: As You Are

.

It was swelteringly hot.

Hermione could vaguely feel the perspiration cling to her temples as she slowly regained consciousness and tried to wipe her face with the back of her hand. She inwardly frowned when both her arms met an unmoving resistance, not having remembered how exactly she fell asleep the night before.

She tried to shift her weight, but even her legs were closely knit together. She couldn't seem to move at all. Now feeling mildly annoyed and definitely awake, she hazily opened her eyes, ready to yell at Parvati or Lavender for preforming a botched up heating charm sometime during the night.

A line of black buttons filled her line of sight, and the unmistakable scent of dark amber hit her nose. Blinking back her daze, Hermione moved her gaze up slowly, deciphering the knot of a green and silver tie followed by a white collar.

_What the…_

The moment Hermione heard a faint grunt of another person above her, everything came crashing back in a startling wave.

Snape. Occlumency. Draco. Room of Requirement.

She had asked him to stay.

And he had stayed.

After a moment of embarrassment and shock, she quietly tilted her neck to see Draco's face right above hers. All the creases of anger and frustration she had seen yesterday were gone, replaced by a serene expression as he slept. He was still sitting on her reading chair next to the bed with his arms tucked awkwardly under him.

Hermione simply stared at his face, trying to suppress the sudden desire to cry or celebrate. She didn't know which. Nothing could compare to the feeling, knowing that he had found it within himself to stay with her overnight.

Violet's words rang between her ears and she closed her eyes.

_You simply have to be patient and believe that he'll grow to love you back—in his own way._

There was no blood pounding headache that threatened to consume her, or even the ice-cold vacancy that she had woken up with every day that week, due to exhausting her Occlumency against Snape.

It was oddly quiet and tranquil.

Another soft hum sounded above her as she saw Draco's eyebrows come together slightly and his face shift against the fabric. His lids slowly pulled back to reveal muddled grey eyes, traveling to each corner before settling on her. The reaction was instantaneous.

His head jerked up as if he had been shocked by electricity, his hands pushing off from the edge of the bed.

"Granger," he blinked twice, a look of confusion passing through his face. It seemed like he wasn't fully awake yet.

"Hey," she whispered back, letting a soft smile grace her lips. "You stayed… thank you."

"I… yeah…" he responded lamely, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Can I ask you something?"

Blinking hard again, he turned to her. "What?"

"Erm—why am I cocooned like this?" she asked casually, pushing against the insides with her arms to prove that she couldn't untangle herself. "I can't move…"

A strange look passed his face as he reached over and began pulling at one end of the sheets.

"You were freezing," he replied, pulling free another end. "Don't you listen to what Professor Snape said?"

She almost gaped. "_That's_ why I woke up cold every morning this week? He never told me about that!"

He gave her a dry look as if he wasn't surprised. "Don't blame me, it's true."

Feeling the sheets loosen up, Hermione yanked her right arm free and wiggled her fingers.

"So you entombed me like a burrito?" she raised a brow, feeling playful despite their graceless morning.

"Well if you were going to be an ungrateful child about it, it's a shame I didn't decide against it." He threw the last layer off her before sending her a mock frown.

Hermione propped herself up with her elbows, making sure all her limbs were accounted for. She felt well rested for the first time that week.

"Thank you, Draco," she said, turning slightly serious. "I really mean it—and the fact that you stayed—it does mean a lot to me."

He gave her a long stare before replying. "Everything means a lot to you."

She shook her head. "I don't just say that to anybody… Nor would I ask any other person to stay with me like I did yesterday…"

"Granger," he lowered his gaze, stepping off the bed. "What I said on Monday still stands, you know?"

Hermione gripped the sheets tightly, feeling resolution build in her chest. She was prepared for this. Too many pointless tears had been shed Monday evening because she hadn't been ready for his words.

But today would be different.

"Draco, listen to me," she said firmly. "You're looking at things light years ahead. Don't do that. Look at the present, look at right now, because that's what matters. You're making this utterly complicated and—"

"Yeah well, this situation isn't exactly as simple as _you're _making it out to be," he retorted.

"Just listen will you?" she sighed, scooting herself towards the edge of the bed. "I… I have also thought about _this _a lot, and yes, I do realize it's not as simple as I might have put it, but the fact of the matter is that… it's our choices that make us who we are, more than our abilities or our circumstances. The future isn't set in stone, not for me, not for you, not for anyone. And everyday we're alive, we have these choices… whether you choose to wear your black socks or your grey ones, or whether you want to go flying or go study, or if you want to fix a problem or leave it be… your life is moved by you. And right now, I am asking—no, imploring—that you give this a chance. Give _us _a chance."

Draco watched her with such intensity; Hermione feared this could be her one and only chance to persuade him—that she would never see that kind of look on his face again.

Then he too, sat back down on the reading chair, putting them eye-to-eye.

"You make it sound so easy, Granger," he said at last. "Like I could flick on a switch and everything will be all right somehow…"

"I'm not saying it's easy," she repeated her words from the night before. "Do you remember at the end of last year, when I followed you to the Wooden Bridge? You nearly hexed me and made a mad dash away, but you came back… and didn't you decide to give my words a chance?"

The beginnings of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, before it was quickly replaced by strain again.

"And look how brilliantly that turned out."

"Are you saying that you regret your decision?" she asked quietly, a part of her not wanting to hear the answer.

"No, I don't," he said immediately, cutting off any hints of fear that had grew in her mind. "But look at where that decision had brought us—an even more complicated situation than the first."

"Then do you wish you could take that time back?" she inquired again, feeling more confident about his answer.

"As convenient and straightforward it would be…" he said. "No. I wouldn't give it back… I wouldn't give you back."

"I wouldn't either," she agreed quietly, fighting off the urge to reach out to him. "Then where does this leave us?"

He released a soft exhale. "It leaves us in a confused mess of 'what if's and 'could be's that's what."

"Is there never going to be a solid 'is' to define us?"

"You know there couldn't be," he mumbled back, seemingly unsure of his own words. "Going against everything—

"There can't be us because of what everyone else says, or what you feel?" she challenged, feeling her stomach tighten. "Because to be honest, I— I would fight against everything if it meant being able to be on the same page as you, Draco . . . So I'm going to ask one last time… what are your feelings for me?"

She could see Draco shrink back in obvious discomfort, but she was determined to get the final answer out of him. She was done with vague meanings followed by unrestrained kisses—it was all too much for her to handle.

"You confuse me, Granger," he admitted, finally lifting his gaze to meet her. "You complicate things, you piss me off, you talk too much, you make me angrier than I had ever felt before… but you amuse me, you worry me, you force me to think about things I don't want to think about, you're bloody brilliant and I hate that you walk with hopeless morons like Potter and Weasley, you're too noble for your own good, too innocent, too honest…" he took a deep breath. "And then _I'm_…"

Hermione let him trail off, watching his bright eyes dim with the realizations of his own words. She fought every urge to punch him in the face again, convincing herself that his reasoning was rather noble of him no matter how much it aggravated her own pride.

Swinging her legs off the bed, she raised her hands to his face again, letting her fingers trail over his cheeks just as she had done the night before.

"Draco," she said softly, brushing her thumb over his cupid's bow. "In spite of everything you just said, I'm going to say this in very simple words… I really do like you."

She paused, watching his reaction at her confession.

"You are right in many points though," she continued. "There's you and then there's me; two people that are different in almost every way there is to be… but who's not to say it wouldn't be worth it in the end? We will both have learned and grown."

Thankful that he was sitting down, Hermione gently pressed her forehead against his, meeting his widened eyes with only an inch separating them. Now that she was so close, she could see flecks of blue in his silver eyes, dancing with recently transpired emotions that were normally well suppressed and hidden.

"Does this bother you?" she asked quietly, briefly wondering if she really did talk too much.

"No," he murmured without a shred of uncertainty. "I like it."

Taking it as a positive sign, Hermione conquered her anxious heart and closed the remaining gap between them, letting her lids close over as their lips met. She kissed him slowly, waiting for his answer.

Just like he had said before, it was as if a simple switch in him had finally been turned on, Draco immediately responded, his hands reaching up to grab hers.

She felt her shoulders lift at his reply, and her heart soar. She couldn't even find the exact words to define her current feelings. It was as he said.

That everything would be all right somehow.

.

She had been so preoccupied with other pressing matters; Hermione had completely overlooked the Easter Holidays.

O.W.L.s were less than six weeks away; the urge to spend every free moment studying was now catching up to her. She diligently created work schedules for Harry and Ron, feeling particularly worried as they took the cards without much concern for studying.

She had finished the rest of her Occlumency training with Snape—much against Draco's wishes—but Hermione was never someone to start something only to give up halfway through. She discovered in the final two lessons that she had a greater aptitude for Legilimency and would have seen some very personal memories if the wizard she was practicing against was not a Master Occlumens himself.

To her great suspicion, Harry too, stopped having Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape just two weeks after her own completion.

"Why haven't you got lessons anymore?" she frowned, asking for the fifth time that week.

Harry sighed, quickly turning his face away. "I told you already, Snape reckons I can carry on by myself now that I've got the basics."

She narrowed her eyes again at the blatant lie. Now that she was constantly tunneling Legilimency at a subconscious level, she could read Harry like an open book just by looking into his eyes. She could tell when he was lying, but it wasn't enough to read his memories for the truth—that was a far more invasive level of Legilimency Hermione didn't want to use.

There was also the logical matter that Professor Snape would never let the Headmaster's request off so easily. She had learned more about the Potions Master within a week of Occlumency lessons than she had the past five years and she knew he was one to take his assignments seriously.

Just what had happened?

"What about your dreams?" she pressed, knowing they were more visions than dreams. But did Harry realize it? "Have they stopped?"

He shrugged non-committedly. "Pretty much."

Another lie.

"Harry," she began, "I think you should go back to him and ask—"

"No," he cut her off, glaring now. "Hermione, just drop it, all right?"

Hermione stopped, her mouth still slightly open and the pang of rejection burning her chest. Harry continued to walk on, not even realizing she wasn't keeping up with him. She watched him turn the corner and disappear from sight, his shoulders downcast and his stride messier than usual.

Something had definitely happened and it wasn't good.

Hermione briefly wondered if she should take the initiative and ask Professor Snape herself, but something told her that this was far beyond what she wanted to meddle into.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her palms and proceeded to jog after his retreating back.

When another week flew by, Career Advising notifications were plastered on the boards, indicating the time of each student's appointment with their Head of House. Hermione ran through the list, catching her name squished in between Seamus Finnigan and Carl Hopkins. She was scheduled to see McGonagall during her Charms class on Thursday morning.

"Blimey, look at all of the N.E.W.T classes you'd have to take for healing!" Ron said to himself, reading through a career parchment. "A bit ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Well it's an important job, Ron," she replied absentmindedly, not looking up from her book. "You wouldn't want the Healer who's in charge of your welfare to have scraped a mere 'Acceptable'?"

"I suppose," he frowned, flipping the page. "And what are you thinking about doing?"

"I'd love to do something really worthwhile," she mused. "If I could do some research… instigate some basic rights for magical creatures… that would show them…"

Ron shrugged and turned back to his leaflet.

"Hey," a new voice greeted, Hermione glanced up to see Fred and George walk in. The twins slid on the couch, propping their feet on the table.

"Ginny's had a word with us about you," George continued, looking pointedly at Harry. "Says you want to talk to Sirius?"

Hermione froze mid-sentence, shooting him a disbelieving look as Harry shrugged. "Well, yeah… I'd like to—"

"Are you mad?" she hissed, worry lacing her voice. "With Umbridge policing around the fires and searching our owls? How are you ever going to find a safe time and place to talk to him?"

"We'll just have to find a way around that," George supplied, smiling. "It's a simple matter of causing the right diversion. It's a been too quiet around here, right Fred?"

"Right indeed," Fred nodded with a mirrored grin. "And if we're going to cause a bit of an uproar, why not let Harry use that as a chance to talk with Sirius?"

She wasn't convinced. "There's not a single fireplace or owl she hasn't got checked. Umbridge will know even if the distraction works."

Harry slowly shook his head. "Not all of them… Not _her_ office."

"Oh Harry, _no_," she pleaded, horror dawning on her. "It's dangerous. And it's not like she's going to leave her door wide open for you. It's insane, it's—"

"Brilliant," the green-eyed boy suddenly said. "I can use Sirius's knife to get in. It can open any door. Even those that are magically locked."

The twins looked exceptionally interested in such a useful artifact.

Hermione turned to the one redhead who hadn't spoken yet, half-knowing it was already a lost cause. "Ron, what do you think about this?"

Ron looked surprised that she had called him out, but lowered his leaflet anyway. He glanced between his brothers and Harry before shrugging.

"If Harry wants to do it, it's up to him, isn't it?"

"Spoken like a true Weasley and friend," Fred grinned, giving him a thumbs-up. Hermione silently grumbled, going through all the possible scenarios in her head on everything that could go wrong.

"We're thinking of doing it tomorrow after all the lessons are over," George continued. "It'll be better for _everyone_ to be in the corridors—somewhere in the east wing where its furthest away from her office—I reckon we should be able to guarantee you, what, twenty minutes?"

"Done," Fred said, nodding confidently.

Hermione almost groaned out loud. She met with Draco on Thursday nights. Even without the Time Turner, they had begun to extend their meetings beyond dinner after all the lessons were over.

Ron raised a brow. "What sort of diversion are you planning?"

"You'll see, little brother of mine," Fred smirked, getting up. George followed. "At least, you will if you trot along to the Gregory the Smarmy's corridor at five o'clock tomorrow."

With their final parting, the scheming twins left the common room once more, leaving behind a confused Ron, an excited Harry and a very conflicted Hermione Granger.

.

Her appointment with Professor McGonagall went as expected. The elder witch had opened all doors for her, explaining that practically every career choice was available to her if she chose to take the N.E.W.T.s for it. Hermione felt an unusual amount of pressure in the office and was ultimately unable to give a solid answer.

When her final lesson of the day was over, she activated her Time Turner, spinning the clock back an hour to meet up with Draco. She had prodded and discouraged Harry as much as possible the entire day, even trying to guilt him with thoughts of Professor Dumbledore and now both Harry and Ron were refusing to speak to her. Figuring the cause lost, Hermione solemnly walked up the steps to the Room of Requirement.

Pushing the door in, she peeked inside; unsurprised to see him already sitting at his desk with the same career leaflet Ron was brooding over earlier in the week. The cream colored curtains were pulled back, allowing bright sunlight to pour through the glass as if it were midday.

She walked over to him, dropping her book bag at the foot of his bed. "Have you had your career appointment with Professor Snape yet?"

"Yesterday," he replied, flipping the page. "Didn't really have a clear answer for him though."

She placed her chin on his shoulder, staring at the parchment. "What do you mean?"

He turned his eyes away from the text and flicked them towards her. "Being honest here, Granger; in the expected situation, the Malfoy inheritance would be passed down and I would probably just continue what my father had planned for me."

"But in reality?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"I can't say," he said stiffly. "Professor Snape really put things into perspective for me yesterday. Who knows what'll happen in just a few years from now?"

"Draco, you're looking too far ahead again," she reminded.

"How can I not?"

"All right, fine," she conceded. "Then tell me what you _would_ like to do… if you know, all of _this_ wasn't going on."

"Hm… I've always like Potions and Charms," he confessed, looking absentmindedly at her face. "Or something relating to spell creation—"

"Well that sounds brilliant," she shot him a smile. "I think you ought to hold onto that idea. Just like everything else, you'll face it when the time comes."

"And I suppose you want to work with the Ministry?" he raised an eyebrow. "I heard Potter wants to be an Auror. Umbridge was raving about him earlier this week—and something about McGonagall taking over the Ministry…"

Hermione didn't reply on his later comment, figuring it was one of those things he had to deal with for being part of Umbridge's little band.

"No… I don't think that's really for me," she answered. "Although I too would like invention… or researching… I don't know—I want to make a lasting impact, you know?"

Lifting her chin from his shoulder, Hermione stepped in front of him, gently taking the career pamphlet from his hands.

"Speaking of research…" she began, taking a steadying breath. "What did you think of—well, did you read Cato's journal?"

Something in his eyes seemed to shift, almost as if he was inwardly withdrawing from her.

"I did." He replied, not meeting her eyes.

"And what did you think of it?" she asked quietly.

He paused, reaching into his bag and pulling out a familiar, old book. Placing it on the desk, he opened it to a page near the back and pushed it towards her. "It's incomplete. There are a lot of theories in here that can come together logically, but his claims are his own, not yet proven."

_A good start_, she inwardly sighed in relief.

"I agree," she looked down at the page he turned to, picking up the part about tracing birth lines. "Cato Max developed this theory while tracing family lines through hospital birth records. He did the math while taking into account their muggle or wizarding status, the whole idea about a magical gene is still technically untraceable."

Draco looked mildly surprised. "You actually read this with a grain of salt?"

She blinked. "Did you just use a muggle idiom?"

"It rubs off on you," he protested, looking mildly embarrassed. "Other muggles have weird sayings like that too."

Hermione bit her lip, wondering if she should question upon his readings on the 'other muggles'. Just what had Draco been doing behind her?

"Of course I did," she answered at last, deciding to save him from off topic questioning. "True, the first time I read it, I jumped on the idea straight away, but the more I studied his entries, the more I realized his work was only the beginning steps to a larger revelation. The groundwork is all there; it just has to be proven, which is the hardest part. It's certainly an interesting theory though."

Another shadow passed through his expression as he flipped the pages of the journal back, stopping at the foreword.

"I do know this wizard," he said rather quietly, pointing to the name. "Cato Gaius Max. His sister, Ella Max married into the Black family from which my mother is a direct line of. As he said, his face _was_ burned off of her copy of the tapestry—I suppose now I know why…"

She observed him, watching his eyes flicker from the journal. "You sound conflicted."

He exhaled. "It's not everyday your life possibly turns into a lie, Granger . . . I don't know what to say."

Hermione reached for his hand and his fingers automatically linked between hers.

"You don't need to say anything," she suggested, "Draco, I never blamed you—"

"Well you damn well should have," he blurted, anger seeping into his features. "And you should still."

"Listen to me," she said, gripping his hand tighter. "You were just taught certain things in life and you're not to blame for that. We've both made mistakes, we both misunderstood each other, I certainly don't hold it against you because you've called me names—"

"No, you don't understand!" he jumped to his feet, tearing his hand away. "How much I actually thought—how I believed with every fiber of my being that you—you weren't worth the same weight I was! I really believed it you know? I walked around; confident that you didn't deserve the wand in your hand or even the uniform you wore! I don't understand how you—you're even… here… right now…"

"I know," Hermione breathed, trying to find her words. "I really do know. I'm not going to lie, the words hurt. It was hard not to believe them myself. I'm still in the process of reevaluating myself every morning. But I've changed, and Draco, _you've _changed. You're not that boy anymore—"

"How are you so sure of that?" he spat, locking his jaw. "For all you know, I could hurt you again—"

"You said it yourself!" she declared, a smile tugging at her lips. "Draco, you said everything like it was in the past. Even subconsciously you know you've changed. You don't think that way anymore, nor do you believe it. And you're right, that _was_ you in the past, but that isn't you right now . . . And that's why I'm here, with you."

He lowered his hands, a fleeting look of complete vulnerability passing through his eyes. Before uttering another word, he stepped towards her and lightly brushed his fingers against hers.

"…I am sorry," he whispered. "I know I don't even have the right to ask you to forgive me—Merlin knows I'm going to be asking again and again in the future—but for what I've done…"

"I forgive you," she breathed, pulling her arms around his shoulders in a tight squeeze. "I already have and I always will, Draco. So forgive me too. We both made mistakes."

She felt his hands press against her own back so hard, she was sure he could have left marks in her skin. His forehead nestled in the crook of her neck, his broken sighs fanning on her collarbones.

For a moment, a needed silence settled in the air, filling for any unnecessary words that might have been said.

Hermione rubbed his back soothingly, feeling incredibly light hearted, as if every string of tension between them had been snapped away.

Before either of them decided to move, an ear shattering clap stormed somewhere in the distance, vibrating the foundations of Hogwarts itself.

Hermione jerked her head up in surprise as she felt the room momentarily shake, and was soon followed by Draco's startled jolt.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, reflexively cringing when another loud bang erupted in their ears.

Hermione bit her lip as she checked her watch. Her borrowed hour was up. Lessons were over for the day.

"Let's go," she urged anxiously, pulling him along to the door.

They both exited at once, glancing around the hallway for any onlookers. When she safely deduced that there was none, Hermione grabbed the hem of his sleeves and began running down the corridor.

A shrill squeal echoed somewhere in the air and was soon followed by multiple explosions that rivaled claps of thunder. Screams and yells of surprise reverberated from many floors below them.

"Granger," Draco called out as they reached the fourth floor. "These sound like—"

"I know," she said nervously, already leading them towards the east wing.

They reached the corridor, both slightly out of breath and lost in the sea of students that had gathered to see what the commotion was about.

The hall was overrun with some sort of green liquid that Hermione couldn't exactly decipher form the distance, covering multiple students and staining the walls. Fireworks of all colors were shooting in the corridors, exploding into house-sized starbursts and causing tremors to move through the stone castle with its sheer noise.

She could barely hear the twins voice as they shouted something—probably an advertisement—and dashed off as they spotted Filch and members of the Inquisitorial Squad coming after them.

She grabbed Draco's wrist, but he didn't make any attempt to follow them or chase the twins. More students had piled in now, and the entire crowd was now moving, pushing them forward whether they wanted to go or not.

"This is insane," she muttered to herself, worried about what Harry was doing at the moment.

The pack of students chased the twins all the way to the Entrance Hall where Umbridge was waiting. To Hermione's secret glee, a burst of green liquid splashed her pink cardigan and caused her to splutter indignantly.

She furiously yelled something to Filch who then promptly dashed off with a wicked smile on his face.

"Stop them! Grab them now!" she bellowed, scanning the crowd for her Inquisitorial squad members.

Quicker than he could react, Hermione whipped out her wand, tapping Draco on the chest with a simple transfiguration spell. The Slytherin green of his uniform and tie changed to blue, his blonde hair altered to black.

He jerked as the spell set in, eyes widening as he clutched at his new uniform. He shot her an incredulous look.

"Are you serious?" he hissed, running the other hand through his now black hair. "I wasn't going to go."

She shrugged one shoulder, smirking slightly at the sight. "Blue suits you, Draco."

Before he could respond, another explosion rattled the castle grounds and Hermione tensed, raising her hands up on instinct. Bright colors filled her vision as Umbridge's screams were drowned out by the noise.

When the final commotion had finally died down, the hall was a mess. She could see Fred and George standing in the mist of it all, with a fuming Umbridge covered in a mix of ash and black substance. Filch then returned.

They exchanged quick words with the twins who didn't look deterred at being surrounded. Raising their wands together, they pointed it west and shouted in unison, "_Accio Brooms!_"

A loud, glass shattering crash sounded somewhere in the distance and two brooms came flying in, chains still dangling precariously behind them. Students ducked and screamed as they flew overhead, Hermione caught a brief glance of Harry, safe and sound near the back.

"We won't be seeing you," Fred now grinned at the silent crowd.

"Yeah, don't bother to keep in touch," George added.

"If anyone fancies buying a portable swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three Diagon Alley—Weasley's Wizard Whizzes," Fred announced loudly. "Our new premises!"

George cackled. "Special discounts to those who swear they're going to use our products to get rid of this old bat," he pointed to Umbridge.

"STOP THEM!" she all but shrieked now.

Hermione watched with hundreds of other students present in the Entrance Hall as they blasted off the cobblestone and into the sky, far away from anyone's reach now.

The castle seemed to explode into cheers as they left, the last of the Weasley fireworks going off with a bang.

"I admit, I wish I could go with them," Draco spoke quietly next to her, the sunset giving his eyes a warm orange glow.

She turned back to the retreating forms of Fred and George Weasley, watching them disappear into the sky. And in that moment, she too, wholeheartedly agreed.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to skip ahead a little bit the next chapter and basically skim through the O.W.L.s , as I'm sure Hermione freaking out over every test isn't fun to read anyway. After the flight to the Ministry and the resulting skirmish, fifth year will be done and over. *Phew!*

So as _LilyGinnyBlack _pointed out in a review, I totally messed up the interaction between Hermione and Narcissa and I apologize. The two of them _have_ met before at the Quidditch World Cup, it's that neither character spoke a word during the brief scene, I had completely forgotten they were even there. Let us say, for the sake of this story, that Hermione was off somewhere else during the meeting. Again, I apologize for the overlook, and thank you for letting me know!

Lastly, I've got the skeleton of the plot all set by now, including those that will, sadly, die along the way. And yes, I've planned some uncanonical deaths or switched around how a character dies. The only person I'm unsure of, is what to do with Snape. I've always thought his death was his last liberation, freeing him of his duty to Harry and finally getting to see Lily again, but it was also cruel and unfitting for such a pivotal character like him. I don't want to spare him for the sake of sparing him though, because then, what purpose would he live for after the war is over? I'd really like to know your verdicts so I've set up a poll on my profile for what you'd like to see regarding his ending. If you feel inclined to drop off your reason/analysis too, I'll be grateful.

That's about it for this chap, thanks as always for your support, you're all wonderful and I sorely appreciate you guys!

El


	22. Divide et Impera

Disclaimer: Plot twist that will never happen: I actually own Harry Potter. By the way, check out _Beautiful Now _by Zedd. It's an awesome song and it reminded me of these adorable dorks.

* * *

Chapter 22: Divide et Impera

.

Fifth year O.W.L.s made its ominous presence known as June arrived, and soon enough, multiple students began breaking down mid-class, dashing to Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught.

Hermione had nearly lost her mind when Hagrid cordially introduced her and Harry to Grawp—his supposed _giant_ half-brother—during the final Quidditch match of the season and rushed to request a Calming Draught for herself.

Harry finally informed her and Ron about his talk with Sirius during Fred and George's grand departure, she felt a mild sense of relief that at least both Sirius and Lupin agreed with her. Harry needed to learn Occlumency properly.

Hermione had tried teaching him, but he constantly waved off her every concern and attempt; she had reverted to badgering him about going back to Professor Snape.

Those conversations never did turn out well.

When the second week of O.W.L.s was nearly over and all that remained was the practical for Astronomy—with History of Magic the following day—Hermione was determined to finish strong.

She completed her star chart with ample time to spare, flipping back to the beginning in order to triple check her answers.

Harry, who was placed directly on the other side of her, shifted in his seat again, glancing over the top of the parapet. She was about to send him a disbelieving frown, when the familiar sound of Fang barking broke the silence. She stilled her quill when she realized it was not a greeting bark, but a warning one.

A roar echoed in the distance and Hermione jerked up, alarmed, shooting her gaze to Hagrid's hut.

Something was wrong.

"Try and concentrate now," Professor Tofty coughed softy. "Twenty minutes to go."

A booming _bang_ broke the silence once more and she dropped her quill in horror. Hagrid's door had busted open and he was currently fighting off six other people, throwing his large fists around like his life depended on it. Red spells bounced off his wide shoulders as he grabbed a man's body and threw him no less than ten feet. He did not rise again. She could hear Umbridge screeching orders to capture the gamekeeper.

"Come on, now," Professor Tofty chided, frowning at everyone who had abandoned their star charts. "Only twelve min—"

"It's McGonagall!" Lavender gasped, watching as her Head of House furiously approach the fight.

"How dare you!" McGonagall yelled with anger. "Leave him alone! Alone I say! On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing! Nothing to—"

No less than four stunners raced towards the elderly witch and Hermione saw with shock as she was blasted off her feet and thrown backwards. People screamed and even Tofty looked outraged.

"COWARDS!" Hagrid's voice boomed through the night. She had never heard him so furious before. "RUDDY COWARDS! I'LL—"

Swinging his giant fists again, he rammed two more attackers, knocking them out cold. Or at least she hoped. He settled Fang's limp body over his shoulders before barraging through another wizard. Only two more remained now and they wisely backed away as Hagrid roared at them.

"Get him!" Umbridge's voice pierced through, casting her own stunners as Hagrid made a mad dash from the castle grounds.

His giant form moved quickly for his size and he soon disappeared into the darkness, leaving nothing but silence.

Lavender burst into tears two seats down from her and Hermione too, felt worry grip her chest for both Hagrid and McGonagall.

She clenched her shaking fist around her star chart, unable to erase the memory of the horror that had just happened. Just where on earth had Professor Dumbledore gone, when it seemed like Hogwarts needed him the most?

No one slept well that night.

.

The moment Hermione heard a gut wrenching scream pierce the air during the History of Magic exam, her heart sank into the depths of despair. She whirled around to see Harry fall off his seat, yelling and clutching his forehead on the Great Hall floor.

_Oh god_. Had he seen something? Was Voldemort trying to possess him? Professor Snape had briefly hinted that it was a possibly, but she couldn't fathom it happening now.

As Professor Tofty escorted Harry out of the hall, Hermione blazed through the rest of her exam with ease, inwardly cursing on how she wasn't allowed to leave until the time was over.

The moment their exams were summoned to Professor Marchbanks, Hermione bolted from her seat, matching eyes with Ron as they met up at the entrance. Wordlessly, they ran towards the Infirmary and nearly ran into Harry at the marble staircase.

"Harry!" she righted herself, grabbing the two boys in the process. "What happened to you? Are you all right? Are you—"

"Not here, Hermione!" he said frantically, dragging them to an empty classroom on the first floor. She could clearly see the lines of stress build in his tense shoulders and his green eyes dart around in panic.

After firmly shutting the door, he turned to them. "Voldemort's got Sirius in the Ministry! Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam."

"What?" Ron shrieked, cringing at the use of Voldemort's name.

"I saw it! He's there! I—"

"But why? How?" she pressed, not liking their situation already. "Why there? Why would he take Sirius?"

"I don't know!" Harry yelled impatiently. "He's torturing him and Voldemort said he'd kill him to get whatever weapon he wants from there—at the end of row ninety-seven—we need to get there somehow! We need to rescue Sirius!"

Ron took a sharp breath.

"Harry," she said a little more firmly. "Let's think logically, it's five o'clock right now and the Ministry must be filled with employees. How on earth would Voldemort just waltz in with Sirius? They're probably two of the most wanted wizards by the Ministry."

"I don't know!" he repeated harshly, hands shaking from his rage. "This is Voldemort we're talking about, he's capable of anything! We don't have time to be doing this—Sirius is dying at the moment!"

"Please, Harry! Listen to reason," she grabbed him desperately. "Voldemort knows you! He sent you that dream because he _knows _you'll come for Sirius no matter what—he's playing you. Sirius might not actually be there—"

"He can't send me visions if they're not real!" he shot back aggressively. "Remember Ron's dad? Tell me that wasn't real!"

"He's got a point, Hermione," Ron quietly inputted.

She bit down on her tongue. "Voldemort _can _send you false dreams, trust me, it's a branch of Legili—"

"Why do you think Dumbledore wanted to prevent me from seeing these things?" he cut in, balling his fists. "Because they're _real,_ Hermione. They've taken McGonagall to St. Mungo's, there isn't anyone left from the Order who we can tell. If we don't go, Sirius is dead!"

"Dumbledore wanted you to shut these visions from your mind," she argued, knowing that she was losing him. "If you had just _done_ Occlumency properly, you'd never have seen this—"

"IF YOU THINK I'M GOING TO ACT LIKE I _HAVEN'T_ SEEN THIS, THEN YOU'RE WRONG!" he bellowed. "SIRIUS IS DYING!"

Hermione closed her eyes, drowning out Harry's screams. Utter frustration and fear clogged her throat as she thought about their situation. She didn't even see Luna or Ginny walk the next moment, a look of surprise on their faces.

"I thought I heard your voice," Ginny raised a brow. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with," Harry snapped.

She bristled. "No need to take that tone with me, I was only wondering if we could help."

"Well you can't."

"Harry, please," she sighed again, her voice starting to shake. "We don't even know how we're going to get into the Ministry. We need to check if Sirius truly left."

"How?" he demanded, aghast. "How are we going to check?"

Swallowing, she explained her plan. "Umbridge's fireplace. We'll need another distraction to lure her away and you can floo Grimmauld Place while she's occupied. If he's truly gone, then we'll go—I promise, but we _need _to check, Harry, we can't go in blind!"

"Fine," Harry bit out harshly.

After a minute of delegating roles, Harry dashed off to grab his invisibility cloak and Sirius's knife, Ron left to try and distract Umbridge to the Transfiguration department, Ginny and Luna agreed to help keep people out of the corridor, and Hermione went to Umbridge's corridor to wait on Harry.

This was not looking good.

She chewed her lip, trying to calm her nerves. It was going to be all right. Harry would floo Sirius and find him still home and they would never have to step foot in the Ministry. They wouldn't fall for Voldemort's scheme.

Everything would be okay.

The moment Harry returned with the cloak and Sirius's knife, she bolted towards him, slipping under his invisibility cloak as Ginny and Luna cleared out the corridor.

A particular face came to the forefront of her mind and she grabbed Harry's arm, getting his attention.

"Harry," she whispered, feeling completely stupid that she had overlooked this. "There's Professor Snape. We could ask him instead. He's part of the Order, remember?"

A look of realization passed his face before it contorted back to impatient rage. "There's no time! We already agreed on this, and besides, I don't trust Snape—"

"Then _I'll_ go!" she quietly yelled, slipping out from underneath the cloak. "He must have a way to contact Sirius! Don't try to—"

Harry didn't even wait for her to finish. The cloak covered him once again and he vanished from her eyes. Hermione wasted no more time standing in the hallway and dashed off the Snape's office. She took the shortest route, having his office's location already mapped out in the back of her mind.

With no time to knock, Hermione burst through his door in a heaving mess.

"Professor Snape!" she called, spotting him at the back of his office. His head whirled around towards her, clearly alarmed. "I'm sorry for barging in like this, but it's an emergency, Harry—"

Hermione's foot caught on one of the plants on the ground and she tumbled forward in her haste. Snape reached out, his hand catching her upper arm in a tight grasp and saving her from a humiliating fall.

"If you cannot even walk properly, then maybe you shouldn't walk in here at all," he said growled, releasing her. "What has Potter done now?"

She righted herself, nodding in thanks. "I think Vol—I mean, _He _sent Harry a false vision, sir. Harry saw Sirius being tortured in the Department of Mysteries and he's going to Umbridge's office right now to try and see if Sirius had truly left Grimmauld Place."

"Impossible," Snape said. "Black shouldn't be going anywhere. Not even the Dark Lord can get him under the Fidelius."

"Harry doesn't believe that," she shook her head, "He thinks it's another dream like the one of Ron's dad. He thinks it's real. Isn't there any way you can get in contact with Sirius before Harry tries to break into the Ministry?"

An odd look passed through his eyes. He turned to her, eyebrows in a furious slant. "Go and stop Potter! Get him out of there. _Quickly_!"

Deciding not to question his actions, Hermione bolted from his office and ran from the dungeons. She could feel her heart crash against her ribs with every step she took and she rammed through groups of students without looking back.

The door to Umbridge's office was open, Hermione skidded in, seeing Harry's head in the fireplace. She whipped out her wand and checked the windows to make sure no one had walked in, and went to block the door.

Before she could, a thick hand covered in large rings painfully rammed into her shoulder, forcing her several paces back. Hermione flung herself to the wall as she watched Umbridge stalk into the office with a furious expression on her face, quickly followed by Draco and Millicent Bulstrode.

The two quickly made eye contact before she jumped back to her feet.

"Wait, professor!" she attempted to intervene. "Please, you can't—"

"Grab her!" Umbridge yelled, while she walked over to the fireplace.

Bulstrode made a move to lunge at Hermione, but Draco stepped ahead, pointing his wand at her throat and throwing the large Slytherin girl a curt shake of his head

"I can handle Potter's sidekick, Bulstrode," he said venomously, grabbing the front of Hermione's uniform with his other hand. "You grab the Weasley girl."

Draco grabbed her wand arm and twisted it behind her back between them. He lowered his face near her ear and tightened his hold on her so that her back was pressed against him. His familiar dark scent wafted off his robes, making her nearly forget the dire situation around her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Granger?" he hissed quietly as Harry emerged, loudly coughing up a storm from the floo powder.

Hermione just shook her head, watching Ginny, Luna, Ron and surprisingly Neville be dragged into the office with other Slytherins on them. Bulstrode lunged for Ginny, forcing the redhead against the wall; Ron and Neville were being held down by Crabbe and Warrington; and Luna was pinned by Goyle.

"You had your head in my fire," she heard Umbridge speak loudly. "With whom have you been communicating?"

"No one!" Harry bit out, picking himself up from the desk, but her grip on his hair was tight.

"Liar! Clearly, it was important for you to talk to somebody," Umbridge narrowed her bulging eyes. "Was is Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed Hagrid—"

"It's none of your business who I talk to," Harry snapped back.

Draco shifted behind her, keeping his wand leveled at her throat. As much as Hermione thought the situation was turning for the worst, she felt a hint of relief that Draco was right behind her.

"You there—" Umbridge pointed to a sixth year Slytherin. "Fetch Professor Snape."

As the girl left the office hurriedly, Draco pulled them further away into the corner of the room. His voice was but a whisper behind her ear.

"Breathe, Granger," he muttered, calming her rapid inhales. "Does Professor Snape know?"

Hermione nodded slightly against his hold.

"And just what the hell is going on?" he murmured back, anger evident in his tone. "Do you realize how angry Umbridge is right now?"

"Someone might be hurt," she replied under her breath, keeping her gaze at the door. She didn't know what Snape found out or how he was going to tell her the results once he walked in.

"Who?" he hissed back.

She gave shook her head softly, unsure of how to give her answer.

Amongst Umbridge trying to get Harry to confess and the others loudly fighting against their captors, no one was able to hear their exchange.

After another minute of waiting, footsteps echoed in the hall outside. The office door pulled open and Snape walked in, looking around the room with a bored expression.

"Ah, Professor Snape," Umbridge smiled sweetly, finally releasing Harry's hair. "I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter—surely you did not use it all?"

To her sickening realization, Umbridge seemed to blush.

Hermione tried to catch his eye throughout the conversation, but Snape wasn't able to look at her without it seeming odd to everyone watching. She was sure that he had figured out if Sirius was home or not, but getting that information out didn't seem possible in their situation.

"I have already told you," Snape said, a hint of annoyance in his voice as Umbridge continued to persist. "I have no further stocks of Veritaserum, unless you wish to poison Potter—and I can assure you that you will have my utmost sympathy—I cannot help you."

"I need the boy alive!" Umbridge shrieked as if it was the most difficult thing to understand. "Certainly you must have something else! His death not will fortify this!"

"Indeed," Snape drawled, Hermione could have sworn his eyes flickered to her for a moment. "There will be no dog's death tonight—the amount of paperwork behind that…"

"You are on probation!" Umbridge screeched, pointing a chubby finger at him. "You are deliberately being unhelpful—"

Hermione drowned her out. It was unmistakable. She was sure Professor Snape wouldn't have used the exact words 'dog's death' unless it was pertaining to Sirius. She glanced over to Harry who still looked frantic and desperate as ever. It seemed like he hadn't understood the hint.

Sirius was still in Grimmauld Place. He was okay.

"Sirius Black…" a low voice murmured behind her, as Umbridge continued to screech at Snape about Harry barging into her office.

She felt her shoulders tense at Draco's voice, trying to convince herself that she had heard incorrectly.

"W-What?" she stammered quietly.

"It's him isn't it?" he uttered, confirming her fears. "He's been taken…"

"No… I… we don't know," she darted her eyes across to room to make sure no one was paying attention to them. "How did you…?"

His grip around her hand tightened. "Black's house elf was at my manor towards the end of Christmas Break."

She nearly yelled, but bit back her tongue. "_What_?"

"Granger… this isn't right," he suddenly murmured. "Whatever you heard, it's wrong, you can't—"

"—Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue," Umbridge's voice cut through, taking Hermione's attention from whatever he was about to say.

"No!" she yelled in protest, nearly freeing herself from Draco's unsecured grip. "You can't! It's illegal!"

She felt Draco's arms redouble in strength lest she really break out. There would be no explaining that scenario.

There was a hungry look in the older woman's eyes that made Hermione believe she hadn't heard a single word. She looked eager. Far too willing.

"Please, professor!" she continued, feeling her heart race in fear, "the Minister wouldn't want you to break the law!"

"What Cornelius doesn't know won't hurt him," Umbridge spoke with a slight pant, ignoring her and keeping her wand pointed at Harry. "Like the Dementors I sent to you last summer—he seemed to be rather excited for the opportunity to expel you—"

"That was _you_?" Harry raged, trying to dodge her wand.

"Oh yes, but you wriggled out of that one, didn't you?" she cocked her head. "But there is no Albus Dumbledore to help you now. Tonight, Potter, I shall implement justice!"

Seeing no other option available, Hermione ignored the tightening of Draco's hand and made her move. There was no way that she was going to stand back and watch Harry suffer under the Cruciatus. She had already seen it once through Snape's lesson and she wasn't keen on seeing it again to the real Harry.

"Forbidden Forest," she hurriedly whispered to Draco, gripping his forearm reassuringly. "Tell Professor Snape."

"Cruci—"

"I'll tell you!" she yelled, turning back to Umbridge. She forced her voice crack and sniffled. "P-please! I'll t-talk instead."

"Er—My—Nee—NO!" Ron gasped through his gag. He struggled even harder against Crabbe, his eyes growing wide.

Determined to look conflicted, Hermione released another sob, trying to make it seem like she was fighting for air.

"We have to!" she shouted. "If none of you will then—then I w-will! I can't do this anymore!"

Umbridge finally turned to her, a crazy look in her eyes. "Well, well, well! Of course you would crack first… Come on then… Tell me who Potter was talking to!"

Hermione took a steadying breath before preparing her huge lie. Oh, Umbridge was going to rue the day she thought she could cross her.

.

Walking down from the castle to Hagrid's small home had always been a simple joy bringing activity for Hermione. She couldn't count the number of times she had gone with the boys to his cabin without a smile reaching her lips.

Walking down the castle grounds with a confused Harry Potter and a misled Dolores Umbridge was a whole other deal.

Harry was right on her heels even as they entered the Forbidden Forest and Umbridge's pants were heard directly behind him. She gripped her wand that was hidden under her sleeve, thankful that Draco had actually never taken it—although he had adeptly moved her hand behind her back in order to fool everyone else.

"Is it very far in?" Umbridge asked breathily, untangling her pink cardigan from a loose branch.

"Yes," she answered, trying to hide her pounding heart. "It's been well hidden."

This was it. Never in her life did Hermione think she was going to pull a stunt like this. She walked through the forest with purpose, trying to seem as if she knew where she was going.

The trees were beginning to grow so thick that Hermione had to stop multiple times and pull herself past the large roots. Harry seemed to follow her lead, but she could see the uncertainty behind his eyes.

After walking for another ten minutes, she could sense Umbridge getting suspicious. She gripped her wand tighter.

"How much further is the wea—"

Spinning on her heel like a top, Hermione raised her wand so quickly even Harry jumped in surprise.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

Red light flashed through the forest and collided with Umbridge's shocked face the next second. Much to Hermione's relief, she saw the oddly short and stubby wand fly towards her.

"Wha—Wha—how dare you?" she screamed furiously, sounding as if she had run a mile.

"Harry! Help!" Hermione urged, grabbing the fallen wand from the ground.

Thank Merlin that he caught on quickly.

Unarmed with his own wand, Harry made an aggressive leap at Umbridge from the side, causing them to both topple onto the forest floor. She saw the two of them crash into a large root and Harry's hand coil around her nearly non-existent neck. A blood-curdling scream filled the air before Hermione cut her off.

"_Silencio_!" she shouted, watching with morbid satisfaction that it had worked to perfection.

Umbridge had her mouth open in a large 'O' as Harry gave one last shove by shouldering her into the tree trunk. He righted himself from the ground, looking more pleased with himself than ever.

"_Stupefy!_" she finished with a wave of her wand.

Another jet of red light hit Umbridge squarely in her chest and her wild limbs crumpled to the ground unmoving.

Hermione breathed hard, her wand hand shaking with adrenaline. Harry was standing a few paces next to her also huffing for air.

"I've always wanted to do that," she admitted quietly. "What should we do with her?"

"Nothing," he answered harshly, wiping off the branches from his tumble. "Just leave her to rot here."

"But—"

"Hermione, there's no time!" Harry said quickly. "Sirius!"

Before she could stop him, he ran off again. Taking one last look at the old toad, Hermione dashed off after him.

"Harry! Wait!"

She followed his tracks back, keeping an eye out for where she stepped.

"Harry, you need to listen," she urged, ducking under a low branch. "Sirius is safe! Professor Snape said he's okay! Didn't you hear his—"

"Snape's a liar!" he shouted back, continuing his sprint. "I talked to Kreacher! He said that Sirius wasn't in! That he had left for the Department of Mysteries!"

"That's not _true_," she tried to argue. "Professor Snape said—"

"I don't care what Snape said!" Harry bellowed finally turning to look at her. "Sirius is in danger!"

"No, Harry, please listen!" she said desperately. "This is Voldemort's trap I just know it! Kreacher could have lied to you—"

"He said it himself!" he retorted, anger burning in his green eyes. "He said 'Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries'. He's talking about Sirius! He said no one was home!"

Confusion swept through her. What on earth was going on? She was sure Professor Snape had said Sirius wasn't in danger, but Kreacher was saying something completely different.

She ran after him in utter silence, trying to think about what had gone wrong. The forest was thinning out slowly and Hermione was losing time.

_Black's house elf was at my manor towards the end of Christmas Break._

"Something isn't right," she mumbled, feeling a frown form on her forehead as she remembered Draco's words. "Why—"

"The only thing that isn't right is you believing Snape over me!" Harry yelled furiously, turning to look at her with desperation. "I _need _to get to the ministry."

"I guess we could fly." A dreamy voice interrupted.

Hermione whipped her head around to see Luna, Ron, Ginny and Neville walk towards them. They were all looking somewhat beat up but relatively all right.

"H-How did you guys get away?" Harry asked first, his eyes wide.

Ginny shrugged. "Malfoy decided to go tell Professor Snape about the 'weapon' and left the office, leaving it to be four on four. A couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, and a really well placed Impediment Jinx later—here we are."

Ron gave Harry his wand and turned to look at her with frown. "We couldn't find Malfoy to get your wand back, Hermione, I'm sorry…"

"It's here," she raised her wand, wiggling for everyone to see. "I—er—managed to take it back without him noticing."

Ron's eyes bulged. Harry's mouth opened as an understanding 'oh' passed his lips.

"I was wondering how you shot down Umbridge," Harry admitted.

"You took her down?" Ron asked, still in mild shock. "Where is she?"

"Lying on ground somewhere in the forest," he replied. "Hermione disarmed her, silenced her, then stunned her. After I tackled her to the dirt first, of course."

Everyone's mouth opened except Luna who simply raised her eyebrows.

"Anyway, we've no time right now, I need to get—Ow!"

Harry jerked forward as if someone had poured a cup ice down his back and clutched the back of his head. He pivoted on his heel to see what had hurt him and stopped dead, eyes going wide.

"Flying it is," Luna suddenly said, walking towards Harry. "Though I don't think he meant to hurt you. They just like the taste of blood."

It took a moment before Hermione realized something was making tracks in the dirt that she couldn't see. Thestrals.

Ron heaved a confused sigh, shaking his head. "Is it those mad horse things, again?"

"How?" Hermione interjected, noticing more tracks appeared. "They shouldn't be—"

"I come see them a lot," Luna said lightly. "This one's called Tenebrus. He's real sweet, actually."

She turned to Luna in disbelief, unable to grasp the idea that the Thestrals had come out to greet her, when she saw the red that stained Harry's hand.

"Harry, you're hurt!" Hermione gasped, finally noticing the odd patch of black hair at the back of his head.

A large gash decorated the left side of Harry's head, staining his hair with blood. It had flowed down his neck and was now dropping on his collar.

"Yeah, well," he growled, wincing as if he had finally recognized the pain. "Umbridge had put up quite the resistance."

"Oh Harry, stay still," she breathed, pointing her wand to the injury. "_Tergeo._"

The blood from his neck and hair vanished and Hermione could see bits of the long cut that ran from his ear to his nape.

"_Ferula_." She cast again, watching as white bandages conjured and wrapped themselves around Harry's head securely. "There, that should do it…"

"Thanks," he mumbled back, prodding at his wrapped forehead.

"And here comes Tristan and Mortim," Luna piped up, going around to pat the newcomers. She seemed to be in her own world. "I haven't seen you two in a while."

"Look," Ginny interrupted, folding her arms. "We're all going with you Harry and that's final."

More protests broke out before Harry finally gave in, clearly impatient and tired, telling them to all get on a Thestral.

"But Harry," Hermione bit her lip, tired and desperate as well. "Professor Snape—"

"Just cut it, all right?" he growled, mounting his Thestral. "If you're so against you can stay right here."

She ran her shaking fingers through her hair as she threw a wary glance at the castle. Where on earth was Professor Snape? According to Ginny, Draco had actually listened to her and left the office. She was hoping the Potions Master would come down to talk some sense into Harry but neither Slytherins were anywhere in sight.

Letting a resigned sigh escape her lips, she nodded. "I'll go with you, Harry. Of course I will."

Reaching out for the invisible animal, Hermione patted its back to make sure she wasn't going to jump on nothing and swung her leg over, righting herself on its bony shoulders.

When all were safety mounted, Hermione felt the animal lurch under her and in the next moment, they were airborne.

.

It took every ounce of her willpower to keep steady on her Thestral, trying to stop herself from turning back around. It felt as if she was walking right into her own demise—which wasn't far from the mark knowing that this whole scenario was a set up for Harry.

Hermione bitterly admitted. She had tried. She really had. Harry simply wouldn't listen to her and now she could only hope all six of them would be able to leave the Ministry with all their arms and legs attached. She hoped Snape had gone to Dumbledore if not them and their old Headmaster was on his way.

Closing her eyes from the cold, Hermione leaned forward, keeping her arms wrapped around the animal's neck securely. A foreboding sense of dread filled her stomach, she concentrated on Draco, imaging that he was there sitting with her. She immediately missed his warmth, his presence, even the grip of his hands when they were in Umbridge's office. There was a sudden emptiness in her chest that ached to see him again.

When night fell, Hermione watched the streets of London finally come into view. Lights from muggle towns illuminated below them, sliding by so fast she had to wonder just how quickly these magical creatures were able to fly.

Hermione's Thestral took a sudden dip forward, she redoubled her grip, knowing that a single slip could mean her doom. All the Thestrals began to descend quickly until the stone patched ground came into view. She blinked away the cold as they galloped gracefully onto the road, giving their rides a smooth landing before allowing them to dismount.

"Over here!" Harry waved to them, running towards a red telephone box. "Come on, we don't have time!"

Patting the Thestral on the back, Hermione then ran over to the rest of the group, wondering why they were all squishing themselves into a muggle telephone booth.

Her question was quickly answered.

Harry made rapid introductions of them to the automated voice and the floor lurched into motion, slowly falling through the ground like an elevator.

The moment the doors reopened, Harry started his dash through the black hall, seemingly aware of where he was headed. Hermione kept her wand out, unable to hold back a wave of anxiety when she realized the Ministry seemed oddly empty.

There were no security guards or even late night patrollers; no alarms went off as Harry burst through multiple doors or even when they deserted to the lowest halls of the Ministry.

The six of them sprinted into the Department of Mysteries after leaving the lift and walked into a large circular room. Hermione glanced around, trying to calm her raging heartbeat when she realized all the doors looked the same.

"Where do we go, Harry?" Ron asked quietly, his blue eyes darting between each door.

"I'm not sure…" he breathed. "In my dream, I always went through a room that seemed to glitter a bit… I know Sirius is in that one. I suppose we'll have to try a few doors."

Silently agreeing, Harry began leading them out to the door straight ahead. He pushed open the cold shining surface with ease and stepped inside.

The first room returned negative. It was so dark that even with all their wands lit, trying to see more than ten feet in front of them was difficult. As soon as they passed a tank filled with green water and swimming brains, Hermione had enough of the room. They all scurried out of the ominous place and the door shut behind them with an echoing bang.

"_Flagrate_!" she hissed quickly, marking the chamber they had just left. A flaming red 'X' appeared on the door just before the room started to revolve. The rotation was incredibly fast, she knew they would have lost sight of which door they tried if she hadn't marked it.

It took two more doors before Harry proclaimed that he had found the correct one. They had first walked through an empty room with a single stone archway in the middle of it. The misty veil sent shivers down her back and she had to drag Harry and Luna away from the supposed whispering voices that came from the arch.

The second door was inoperable. It had burned Sirius's magical knife and wouldn't budge no matter what was done to it. It was safe to say they hadn't spent too much time with it.

When Harry opened the fourth door, his face lit up in recognition. A great dazzling light nearly blinded Hermione as the six of them went inside, following Harry's lead.

"This way!" he shouted, sounding more confident than ever.

She followed his footsteps, quickly followed by Ron and Ginny. They ran through rows and rows of odd white spheres until they reached ninety-seven. Harry ran around the area in a frantic search for his godfather, his large green eyes showing nothing but devastation and daze when Sirius was nowhere in sight.

"He's got to be here!" he shook his head. "He has to be!"

Hermione bit back her remark and simply kept a keen watch out, knowing that something was about to happen. Voldemort had lured Harry here and succeeded, now the only thing remaining was to try and leave the Ministry alive.

As the group mumbled between themselves and observed the shelves, Hermione walked out, her wand at the ready, pointing down every dark aisle for any signs of another person. Her heart pounded with tense adrenaline, she held down her lower lip to stop the shaking.

"—it's got my name on it," she heard Harry's voice travel to her ears.

Hermione whipped her head around to see him holding one of the glowing white spheres, a strange expression on his face. What in Godric's name had he grabbed now?

Before she could reach the group again, she felt a sudden presence behind her, ominous and overbearing. She jerked back around and was faced with eighteen inches of Elm wood pointed at her face. Halting her step halfway, Hermione held her breath and slowly lifted her eyes to meet a familiar pair of cold grey ones. They regarded her with a dangerous glint that forced her to realize just how different the same set of eyes could seem.

Lucius Malfoy.

* * *

A/N: Dun, dun, duunnn. I usually don't like to end chapters in cliff hangers but there was no way I could fit the entire Ministry skirmish into one chapter, apologies. I also disliked the fact that Hermione was taken down like five minutes into the fight according to the books, I've been changing things up a bit. I feel like she deserves a little more credit - at least for this story because she's been practicing well with Draco and the people of D.A.

The poll regarding Snape will continue to be on my profile, probably for the remainder of the year, and if you want to see where this story is headed before choosing, you can do that too.

Tenebrus is an actual Thestral of canon, one of Hagrid's favorites I might add. Tristan and Mortim are names I gave that are based off the Latin roots of "somber" and "death". A bit depressing but how else can you go about naming Thestrals?

All right, that's about it. One more chapter and fifth year is all over. See you guys soon.

El


	23. Dance with Death

Disclaimer: Beware, this chapter is much longer than any of my previous ones—a bit over 8k! So enjoy, and remember that I don't own HP.

* * *

Chapter 23: Dance with Death

.

A rain of black cloaks filled into the Hall of Prophecy as Hermione stood frozen, eyes locked with the man before her. He was tall—much taller than Draco and had a thick aura about him that felt suffocating.

"You," he greeted softy, as if she wasn't even worth his breath.

She bristled, feeling hot anger under the fear. "_You,_" she echoed harshly.

"Don't be so hasty," he murmured, eyes glistening. "You're only a word away from losing your head."

Hermione tightened her grip on her own wand, motioning to the placement with a flicker of her eyes. "And you're only a word away from losing your heart."

He glanced down, noticing the tip of her wand hovering a foot away from his chest. If he was surprised, he hid it perfectly well.

A loud, shrill laugh echoed through the hall as a woman stepped out from behind him, nearly causing Hermione to falter. The same silky black hair, heavily hooded eyes and wicked smile looked back at her, just like she had seen in Draco's mind.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

"She knows how to play," Bellatrix cooed, cocking her head as if observing an animal. "Very well. Let's have Potter watch while we torture her. I'll do it."

"Hermione!"

"Harry, don't move!" she yelled back, eyes trained on the two before her.

They were cornered. There had to be at least a dozen Death Eaters surrounding them now. She knew he wasn't addressing her, but his cold gaze seemed to instill an unspoken challenge.

"Potter," Malfoy held his free hand out to Harry. "Give me the prophecy."

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asked breathlessly, undoubtedly making the same panic-inducing conclusion.

"_Where's Sirius_?" Bellatrix mocked in a high voice, a terrible mimic of a child. She gave another cackle before grinning. "The Dark Lord always knows."

"Always," Malfoy said softly. "Now give me the prophecy, Potter, and no ones needs to get hurt."

Hermione stared at the wand that was inches away from her face. So Voldemort had lured Harry to the Ministry for some fortune telling ball that was sitting in his hand.

"Right," Harry spoke up. "I'll give you this—this prophecy is it? And you'll just let us skip off home, will you?"

Bellatrix lashed out. "_Accio prophecy_!"

Harry's wand parried the next second. "_Protego_!"

The two spells clashed and Hermione watched as the small silver orb slip out of Harry's grasp.

"STOP! NO!" Malfoy yelled, glaring at Bellatrix, his wand faltering. "If you smash it—"

Taking advantage of the distraction, Hermione bolted away, pointing her wand at the airborne prophecy.

"_Immobulus_!"

Harry's hand recaptured the orb and Hermione settled back into the safety of her group, feeling her heart pound with adrenaline and fear. Ginny squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Malfoy finally turned, eyes narrowed in obvious displeasure at her escape.

"So," Harry said, spreading out his feet in a protective manner. "What kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?"

"What kind?" a look of surprise flashed through Bellatrix's face. "Are you saying Dumbledore never told you?"

Just then, Luna grabbed the back of Hermione's sleeve and pulled her uncomfortably close, squishing her next to Neville. She motioned for them to lean down, fingers curled by her mouth as if telling a secret.

"When Harry says 'go'," she relayed quietly, "he wants us to smash the shelves."

Neville's eyes went wide and Hermione gave a bare nod.

"How dare you! You filthy half-blood!" Bellatrix screamed, bringing all attention back to the conversation. "_Stupef_—"

Malfoy intercepted once more and red light shot at a skewed angle towards the shelves, causing four spheres at exploded into irreparable pieces. Misty figures arose from the chaos and began whispering odd phrases.

"I SAID DO _NOT _ATTACK!" Malfoy yelled again. "WE _NEED_ THE PROPHECY!"

"He…" Bellatrix gasped. "He _dares…_"

Hermione glanced at the open aisles, marking the location of every Death Eater. It was as she had thought. There were twelve that she could clearly see including Bellatrix and Malfoy, all exits were blocked. Getting out alive now seemed like an impossible notion. She silently prayed that Snape had contacted the Order.

"Now, Potter," Malfoy drawled. "The Dark Lords knows you're not—"

"GO!" Harry yelled.

Moving on instinct, Hermione pointed her wand at the widest corridor with three Death Eaters standing there.

"_Reducto_!"

Thundering explosions echoed through the Hall of Prophecy and hundreds of white spheres shattered upon contact. Screams of alarm pierced the air as the towering brackets began to collapse on each other like dominos. Glass shards flew into the air causing misty seers came forth and relay their prophecy one last time. Their hollow voices rang through the hall, mixing with the painful screams of the Death Eaters.

"RUN!"

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She ran down the open aisle, jumping over broken shelves and blasting large objects from her path. She frantically darted her eyes around for the others and noticed Ginny, Ron and Luna all running past Harry towards a different exit.

"_Stupefy_!" she yelled, blasting off the Death Eater that grabbed Harry.

She took a sharp right, meeting up with a frantic Neville. Both his hands were shaking vigorously as Hermione shot down another Death Eater to her left.

"Come on, Neville!" she shouted, pushing him past the door. "_Colloportus_!"

The door sealed shut, she heard the Death Eaters slam against the other side from momentum.

Meeting up with Harry, the three of them dashed into a room to their right. The boys threw themselves under the desks while Hermione hid behind a cabinet. Her heart was racing a mile a minute and her legs were trembling with adrenaline.

The door exploded open with a powerful spell as two Death Eaters came rushing in, their black robes trailed behind them. Hermione jumped out.

"_Stupefy_!" Harry yelled first, knocking the first Death Eater against the far wall.

The second one nimbly dodged two more Stunning spells before pointing his wand at Hermione.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

She threw herself to the cold tiled floor, the killing curse missing her by inches. The room lit up in a brilliant green as the spell crashed into the cabinets behind her and burst into flame.

"_EXPELLIARMUS_—No! Dammit! _Stupefy! STUPEFY_!"

Harry and Neville lunged at the Death Eater, all three of them toppling towards the entrance of the Hall of Prophecy. Harry was racing after his lost wand while Neville missed the black cloak for the second time.

"_Stupefy_!" she screamed, catching him squarely in the chest.

The Death Eater crashed into the large Bell jar, his head swimming in the glimmering light. The silver mask slipped from his face and something incredibly odd began to happen.

His head rose from the jar and seemed to slip onto the floor with a loud _squelch, _the black hair on the man's head shrunk back into his skull, the harsh wrinkles rapidly began fading away, his entire head grew smaller and smaller.

"Oh god," Harry whispered, starting at the Death Eater who now sported a giant baby head. "What on earth…"

She swallowed thickly, finding it extremely fascinating and disturbing at the same time. "Time… it must be—"

"Hermione!" Neville finally turned to her, his face twisted into an expression of utmost relief. "Oh—I thought—I thought you had…"

"I'm all right," she answered shakily, knowing that she had been inches away from the killing spell. "Come on, we have to—Harry!"

A booming crash and a scream from another room alerted them. Grabbing onto each other, they tore out of the room and ran towards the next door, hoping to see Ron, Ginny or Luna inside.

They burst into a large office with two more Death Eaters hot on their heels. Before Hermione could seal the door shut, it once again exploded into bits of marble as their pursuers followed them in.

Hermione felt a strong Impediment Jinx hit her on the right shoulder and she went flying through the air, crashing into a bookshelf that did nothing to cushion her fall. A scream of pain escaped her throat and black spots danced in her vision. She couldn't move or even feel her arms and legs.

"WE'VE GOT HIM!" one of the Death Eaters shouted, towards the open the door. "WE'VE GOT POTTER HERE IN THE OFFICE OF—"

The second the jinx wore off; she twisted on the floor, raising her wand. "_Silencio_!"

He jerked back in surprise as his voice was cut and the other Death Eater went tumbling down as he was hit by Harry's spell. He roared angrily, unable to make a sound and moved his wand in a downward slashing movement, causing a dark purple spell to fly towards her.

Hermione spun out of the way and rolled onto her feet, narrowly missing another deadly spell by the looks of it. She was suddenly thankful for all the practical duels she had with Draco.

Neville threw himself against the Death Eater, trying to force him towards the ground. In their struggle, the silver mask slipped from his face revealed face that Hermione immediately recognized from the Daily Prophet, Antonin Dolohov.

Dolohov tossed Neville off his back in a trained movement and brought a powerful kick right to Neville's face. The Gryffindor instinctively shot his hand between his face and Dolohov's foot, taking most of the damage, but a sharp crack sounded through the air as Neville's wand broke from the pressure.

"Neville!" Harry got to his feet, catching him before he crumpled to the floor.

"_Stupefy_!" Hermione ran around, anger coursing through her. Dolohov parried back and she swung her wand again, blocking a strange yellow spell with a powerful shield of her own.

"_Petrificus Totalus_!" Harry cast again, succeeding as the Death Eater had his attention towards Hermione.

The man's arms and legs locked together as he fell to the floor, stiff as a board. Panting, she dashed over Dolohov and crouched next to Neville who was holding his bloody nose with a bleary eyed expression.

"Oh god, Neville," she gasped, starting at the stream of red that decorated the lower half of his face. "Are you—"

"Imb okay," he choked out, sadly lifting up his broken wand. "Bub the wahnd, my gran id going do kill be—"

"Hold still," Hermione pointed her wand at his nose. "_Episkey_"

Neville's oddly crooked nose seem to straighten out a bit, bit the swelling on the rest of his cheeks were still evident.

"That's the best I can do," she breathed, suddenly feeling much more exhausted. "I'm sorry about your wand. Here—_Accio wand_!"

One of the fallen Death Eater's wands came flying into her hand. She caught it with a sense of repulsion and handed it to Neville.

"It'll be better than nothing," she encouraged quietly.

"Danks Hermione," he grunted, taking the black wand from her hand.

"I'm going to find the others," Harry said suddenly. "Neville, you and Hermione should try going back to the lifts to see if you can get help—someone—anyone!"

"No!" they both replied sharply.

"I'm staying here, Harry," she shook her head. "There's no way I'm running away now."

"Me too!"

"Fine!" Harry breathed, pulling Neville to his feet. "I'm going to check that weird brain room for any signs of them…"

Hermione huffed. "I'll check the others. It'd take too long if we stick together."

Coming to a silent agreement, they all nodded and separated from the office, splitting up at the large circular room.

Her heart raged against her ribcage as she pushed open the closest door to her left, walking into the dark room.

It was the same place that she, Harry, and Neville had barged into after running from the Hall of Prophecy. A beautiful dazzling light illuminated the room that looked moderately wrecked but still in good shape. Clocks of all shapes and sizes filled every inch of every wall, filling the room with a monotonous ticking noise.

Clutching her wand tightly, Hermione quietly stepped over an overturned desk and neared the Bell Jar, pointing at seemingly empty corridors. The hairs on the back her neck stood up, she impulsively jumped to the right, just before a flash of green light burst against the exact place she was standing moments before.

"A lucky move, Mudblood."

Hermione turned on the spot to see a tall man walking towards her. His white blonde hair seemed to gleam in the dazzling light, his grey eyes boring into hers. She forced her fear down her throat and looked up at the man who looked so much like Draco.

"Make yourself useful before I kill you," he suggested sharply. "Where—is—Potter?"

Keeping her wand raised, Hermione did her best to pull an undeterred smirk on her face that Draco would have been proud of.

"No, thanks," she replied smartly. "I don't know what you're—"

"_Confringo_!"

Hermione jumped to the side, covering the back of her head as she saw a blast of orange fire hit the area to her right, scorching and exploding everything in contact. Desks and shelves flew everywhere, the fire spread enormously, nipping at her clothes even as she ran.

"_Aguamenti_!" A jet of water burst from the tip of her wand, extinguishing the fire that had begun to burn through her robes.

A startled scream escaped her throat as a towering wooden mantelpiece shattered right behind her, causing it to rain sharp splinters of wood down her back. She crashed into the hard ground, rolling and narrowly dodging another one of Malfoy's spells.

"_Expelliarmus_!" she shouted through the chaos, hoping she had hit him.

Getting to her feet, Hermione jumped past the burning Time Turners, making a sharp right. She ignored the painful burn that she had gotten on the left side of her body from the explosion and ran towards the exit.

"_Impedimenta_!"

Drawing up all her remaining energy, she swung her own wand in front. "_Protego_!"

His jinx rammed against her shields and ricocheted off, hitting the back wall with a hiss. Lowering her shield, she saw a nasty blue spell come hurling at her. She threw herself to the side, feeling the spell scrape against her right calf.

"_Stupefy_!" she cried, watching as Malfoy nonverbally blocked the red stunner with a wave.

Gasping for breath, she clutched the leg that had been hit, feeling it burn as if it had been dunked in acid.

"Filthy Mudblood," he sneered, walking towards her. "Did you honestly believe you would escape here alive?"

Hermione turned her head towards his voice, slanting her eyes in clear refusal. Her entire body was aching and twitching without her consent and the fact that her hands began to shake as he approached made her feel angry with herself.

"I'll say," she breathed tiredly, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have any other insults to use? Or is 'Mudblood' the only thing your narrow mind can think of?"

His grey eyes widened in fury. "You insolent—"

"Mudblood?" she finished for him. "Honestly—"

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

Even with the spreading fire, the temperature in the chamber seemed to drop significantly as Hermione saw the Killing Curse fly straights towards her for the second time that night.

Just as she thought the curse would hit her for good, there was a strange tugging sensation at her waist, and Hermione was then dragged along the cold floor like she had been hooked on a string. The green curse hit a large grandfather clock behind her, causing it to blow up into flames.

"Damn," a very familiar voice mumbled, "I liked that clock…"

Hermione jerked her chin back to see a tall woman standing directly behind her. She had bright pink hair that seemed to glow in the shimmering light of the Time Chamber, but her face was set into serious expression, wand at the ready.

"_You_!" Malfoy yelled, his wand hand shaking with disbelief.

"Yes, my dear _Uncle_—Me." Tonks glared at him. "You realize what this means, don't you? The Order is here, as well as Dumbledore… You've lost tonight."

Realization and rage dawned upon his features before Malfoy let loose a furious snarl. "_In_—"

Tonks had her wand ready before Malfoy ever finished that spell. A silver light slammed into him and he went flying straight through the exit. Her spell blasted through the marble walls, causing the supporting structure to collapse all around them.

"You all right?" Tonks shouted through the noise as the Time Chamber began crumbling down. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

Hermione nodded furiously, grabbing the Auror's hand to pull herself up. They ran out of the destroyed room, jumping over broken desks and dodging shelves. She and Tonks burst through the large hole where the door had once been. Hermione looked around, taking a quick moment to analyze the situation.

The fight had migrated to the dark chamber with the whispering arch that Harry and Luna had stood in front of, except now, Sirius was caught up in a fierce battle with Bellatrix upon the platform. The veil rippled back and forth behind them. Hermione grew wide-eyed as she saw Moody, Lupin and Kingsley caught up in their own duels, all of them taking on multiple opponents at once.

"I'm going down!" Tonks called over, jumping from the elevated ledge and landed on the marble staircase. She soared onto the platform next to Sirius and began shooting spells at Bellatrix.

Hermione didn't even get the chance to say the same. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry carrying Neville up the stairwell across from her, no doubt to head to the lifts. Neville's legs were moving frantically as if he didn't have control over them.

Making her decision, Hermione ran down the steps closest to her, jumping next to Lupin who was taking on a seriously injured looking Malfoy and an angry Dolohov. She took in Malfoy's disheveled appearance, noting the trail of blood that ran down his temple, and his once immaculate robes torn beyond repair. Tonks had done a job well done.

"Hermione, get back!" Lupin warned, throwing up a large shield charm.

She cast a powerful Stunner towards Dolohov, watching as it grazed his shoulder. "No! I can help!"

Seemingly unable to argue whilst the duel, he didn't say another word. Hermione felt newfound power surge through her as she battled both wizards. Antonin Dolohov had brutally murdered Mrs. Weasley's two brothers—merely thinking about their terrible deeds made Hermione's blood boil.

Looking at Lucius Malfoy made her especially furious. How could he stand there with his blood stained Dark Mark, forcing down his beliefs and ways to Draco? There was a small part of her that wanted to give the man a chance as well, knowing he grew up the same way, but the dangerous look in his eyes proved otherwise.

A sense of retribution echoed in her mind as she saw Malfoy trip over his injured leg—presumably while falling—and received a strong Impediment Jinx straight to his chest. He stumbled towards the strange veil where Sirius and Bellatrix were still dueling. She couldn't see Tonks anywhere.

"Come on!" Sirius yelled, his lips pulled into a mocking grin. "You can do better than that!"

Hermione watched with overwhelming shock as a red spell slipped through his defenses and caught Sirius right over his heart. The man staggered backwards with an expression of surprise on his face, until he fell straight into the misty archway. The shroud seemed to ripple as he fell through, Sirius disappeared behind the veil.

She heard Bellatrix scream with glee but Hermione could only stare at the black veil, unable to believe that Sirius had just gone. Surely, he was going to come back out any moment now through the other side?

Distracted with Sirius's fall, she hadn't heard Lupin's warning until it was too late.

"Hermione! _MOVE_!"

She turned just in time to see a jet of blue light spiral straight towards her. She felt herself being blasted off the dais before pain overtook every sense in her body. She thought she heard someone calling her name, but soon, everything turned black.

.

"I still have no pulse. Josephine, get Sawyer in here _now_!"

…

"No response… Have we found the counter curse to this blasted spell yet?"

…

"Her lungs are damaged, prepare for stage three."

…

"She's steady… just watch her left side. It's got a bad burn."

…

It was noisy.

Voices were muttering all around her and Hermione didn't know if she wanted to shut them up or simply leave them be due to her own laziness. She felt comfortable. Content even. There was no reason to exert the effort.

Her eyelashes began to flutter as even more voices were added to the mix, bombarding her ears like she was in a classroom. Her consciousness slowly returned to her as if she was pulling back her Occlumency shields after an incredible long use. Her mind felt empty and cold and she had no idea why the sudden discomfort was shattering her current contentment.

She opened her bleary and unfocused eyes to see an expanse of white. There were strange beeping devices that seemed to add to her irritation, but Hermione had no idea where she was.

A sharp clang sounded to her right and a white curtain was pulled back.

"Miss Granger! You've finally returned to us! Can you hear my voice?"

Hermione blinked. And then blinked again when the strange woman standing there didn't disappear. She was wearing lime green robes over a white blouse, thick-framed glasses sat on her small nose and her large blue eyes seemed to await Hermione's answer.

Unable to find her voice, much less feel even her own fingers, Hermione simply jerked her chin down to indicate that she heard. She felt groggy and dull now that she had woken up. And she couldn't feel anything from her neck down.

"Excellent! Excellent!" the woman smiled, walking towards her. "Glad to see you alive, dear. Do you know where you are?"

A small crease made its way between her eyebrows as Hermione was unable to make her head jerk to the side.

"This is St. Mungo's," the woman answered, waving her wand in intricate loops above her. "You were admitted to us around five o'clock Friday morning and have been sleeping for quite a while. It's Monday today, just about nine o'clock."

She felt confusion sweep through her at the woman's words. Wasn't St. Mungo's the wizarding hospital that Harry and Ron visited over Christmas Break? Why was she here?

A startling realizing hit her like lighting, and Hermione would have bolted up if it weren't for the fact that she couldn't feel her lower body. Memories of the night at the Ministry came flying back to her. She had been hit by something… but before that, she had seen Sirius fall through the strange archway… had he come back?

"I'm Josephine," the woman introduced with a warm smile. "I'm a Trainee Healer here in the Spell Damage ward and believe me, when I say we had the entire floor of Healers trying to save you for two days straight. We couldn't understand what kind of curse you had been hit with, you see."

Hermione forced her mouth open to ask questions, when her voice didn't come out. It was as if she had been silenced. She couldn't even clear her throat.

As if seeing her slight panic, Josephine placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It's all right, dear," she said softly. "Take deep breaths—I'll explain. You were hit with a curse that shut down and deteriorated your organs. None of the healers had ever seen anything like it, it took two days until someone was able to create the appropriate counter-curse. We've been working on resorting all your damaged organs and bones, but it's been a slow process. Now that you're awake, it should go much faster."

She tried to speak again, but couldn't place her voice. Frustration filled her as she realized she couldn't even utter a single sound.

"Your vocal cords were damaged," Josephine sighed. "But don't fret, you'll be able to use them once they're restored. We wanted to heal the most important and major areas first so you would at least live to see the next day."

Josephine raised her wand and summoned no less than a dozen bottles to the small table beside her.

"Take these—" she popped out the corks with another flick. "I know it seems overwhelming, but there's a lot of you to fix, Miss Granger. And if you would take this as well—" she handed her a roll of parchment and a self-inking quill. "If you need anything, write your inquiries there."

Nodding gratefully, Hermione watched the older woman place the items on the table and step towards the curtain.

"Visiting hours start at ten o'clock, so if you are expecting anyone, they will be here shortly."

The white curtain closed nosily as the metal rings ran against the bar and Hermione was left alone once again.

Now that she could feel some parts of her body, she flexed her fingers experimentally, making sure they seemed strong enough to respond to her. She bent her wrist and cracked her elbow, raising her arms up and down a few times to build assurance.

When she was confident that the potions wouldn't slip from her grasp, Hermione reached to the table beside her and grabbed the nearest bottle, downing it quickly. She nearly threw it back up at the foul taste and inwardly cursed as she looked at the label: Skele-Gro. Not wanting to wait and read the other labels, she quickly placed the empty bottle down and grabbed the next one. The rest of the potions were just as disgusting, if not more horrid than its predecessor.

After composing herself from the burning, ticking and stabbing sensation due to all the potions, she grabbed the roll of parchment off the table. There were so many things she wanted to ask, but she knew none of the Healers had the answers.

Just then, her curtain flew to the side, followed by a squeal of, "Hermione!"

Whipping her head up, she saw Tonks practically jump next to her bed quickly followed by Professor McGonagall.

"Oh you're awake!" the Auror sighed in relief, "thank Merlin, we thought we'd be losing you! How are you feeling? Are you all right? Does it hurt anywhe—"

"Let the poor girl breath!" McGonagall said sternly, pulling Tonks back. "Remember they said she can't speak just yet?"

"Oh right."

Hermione smiled warmly at both of them. She had remembered McGonagall was sent here after getting four Stunning spells to the chest—now she looked good as new. Tonks on the other hand was with her at the Department of Mysteries… had she been terribly injured as well?

She did a quick scan of Tonks, noting nothing glaringly wrong, but her hair was now a dull blonde rather than her usual bright pink. It looked suspiciously lifeless and limp. Her eyes then trailed to the roll of black and white paper under the Auror's arm, and realization hit her.

Patting her hand, Hermione pointed to the rolled up newspaper under her arm, then pointed to herself.

"That's right!" Tonks said with wide eyes. "You haven't heard what happened!"

Quickly taking the paper with a nod of thanks, Hermione scanned through the front page of the Daily Prophet.

"The Ministry's finally agreed that You-Know-Who has returned," Tonks said. "Fudge has been sacked and Dumbledore's back at Hogwarts! They've rounded up almost all of the Death Eaters that had been at the Ministry that night and threw them into Azkaban."

Fumbling with the quill and parchment, Hermione sloppily wrote one word down and raised it towards them.

_Sirius?_

A hollow gasp escaped Tonks and her face immediately fell. Even McGonagall looked more grim than usual.

Hermione did not understand their looks.

"I'll explain, dear," McGonagall said quietly, pulling a suddenly distressed Tonks aside. "Miss Granger, these are the details as I've heard it. Your battle took place in a special part of the Department of Mysteries called the Death Chamber. Within that chamber is a veil, which stands as the barrier between life and death. It is a one-way passage… I'm sorry to say but… Sirius has gone…"

A ripple of sadness and anguish tore through her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had not known Sirius as well as Harry had, but the thought still made her forlorn. Trying to ignore the utter look of despair on Tonks's face, she clenched her hand and wrote again.

_The others?_

"They are fine," McGonagall answered with a tight smile. "They have all recuperated under Madam Pomfrey's hand at Hogwarts. It was only you and Tonks that decided to join me here at St. Mungo's."

Nodding absentmindedly, she forced her hand to scribble another question.

_Will you be returning to Hogwarts for the remainder of the term?_

"Both Tonks and I were officially released yesterday and I shall be returning to Hogwarts today. I have also been told that Potter as well as half my Gryffindors have received permission to come visit you this weekend—" a small smile graced her lips. "—Although I see you already had a stack of visitors."

Hermione turned to where McGonagall was looking and finally noticed an entire table filled with chocolate frogs, watermelon strips, sugar quills and a whole sort of other sweets.

"That was probably the rest of the Order," Tonks answered, her face pulled into a forced expression of happiness. "They came to see me yesterday, so that's when they must have stopped by as well."

_Tell them I said thank you._

Both women smiled warmly at her raised parchment. "I will do so." McGonagall replied softly. "Now, I must get going to Hogwarts. Miss Granger, I hope to see you fully recovered before the term ends—Tonks, let us leave her to rest. I'm sure we have badgered her quite enough."

Before Hermione had time to write that it was all right for them to stay, the two witches left her room with a wave of the curtain.

"You better eat those chocolates!" she heard Tonks yell just as the door slid shut.

A sense of resignation settled over her as the room became quiet once more. Deciding to put at least something in her empty stomach, she reached over to the other table and grabbed a small bag of star shaped chocolates. She abruptly stopped her rummaging when she noticed a small folded piece of parchment that was sitting under all the sweets.

Thinking it was a rather last minute card; Hermione flipped it open with her fingers and froze.

She recognized his writing immediately. Four words stared back up at her in the elegant script she had come accustomed to all last summer. Her eyes widened as she read the short letter again and again.

Feeling her hands shake, she impulsively reached over to the call button and slammed her palm over the signal, causing a resounding _ding_ to echo through the room.

A half-minute later, Josephine slipped through the door looking rather rushed. "Yes, Miss Granger? Is something wrong?"

Having her question already written, Hermione lifted the letter and her parchment with trembling hands, a part of her not wanting to hear the Healer's answer.

_Who left this letter for me?_

Josephine narrowed her eyes at the small letter in her hand, then a look of recognition passed through her eyes.

"Oh yes," she began. "There was a young man who came by Friday morning, a few hours after your admittance. He had come with Professor Snape actually—goodness that man has aged since I last saw him—anyway, they were the ones who had helped Healer Sawyer perfect the counter-curse for you, or so I've heard."

Hermione didn't know if it was the numbing potion wearing off, she felt her stomach perform an uncomfortable lurch as she listened to Josephine's words. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she had already known his identity before Josephine had explained everything, but even then she messily scribbled the next question.

_Can you describe the young man?_

The young Healer scrunched her face in thought. "Blonde hair… really pale—I'm sorry, I had only seen the two of them for a short while, I can't actually remember much more."

She had heard enough. Nodding her head in thanks, Hermione dejectedly let her hands drop besides her legs. Her mind was spinning with thought and theories as Josephine left the room for the second time.

She didn't understand how Draco had convinced Professor Snape to bring him to St. Mungo's, a pit of misery hit her chest as she realized she had not been awake to see him. The feeling of emptiness that she had felt while flying to the Ministry seemed to return double fold. Clutching his letter, Hermione reread the words until the parchment began to crease with the amount of pressure behind her fingers.

There was one clear moment that Hermione could point his words to, but she didn't want to. Acknowledging it meant that it was actually happening and she couldn't seem to bear that notion. Her chest seemed to cave, cutting off her air supply. She shut her eyes trying to hold back the memory from running through her mind.

_Give it a chance, Draco... Give _us_ a chance._

She pulled back her lids, hoping that his letter was just a figment of her imagination. She stared down at the tinted parchment, feeling unexplainable agony tear through her heart, as his words seemed to look straight back at her.

_Our chance is over._

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A/N: Don't worry, I'm not going to backtrack twenty-two chapters of interaction, but there are going to be some hardships ahead for the two of them. I suppose this is where the real test begins.

I'm also starting to change things here and there—as you know Hermione never went to St. Mungo's in canon, nor did she have a boss fight with Lucius. I'm sorry if you wanted Sirius to live, but I think his death was a crude, but necessary wake up call for Harry, as well as Hermione now.

There's a very long extra chapter below, letting you understand a bit of what was happening on the other side. Also as a big thank you to all my wonderful readers! I really wouldn't be here without you guys!

El

P.S. Warning for torture in case that makes anyone uncomfortable.

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Bonus Chapter 3: An Unexpected Turn

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Severus knew things had escalated from bad to worse when he felt his left arm burn in a familiar pattern.

He jerked from his seat, immediately rising to his feet and reached for his robes. His dark eyes found the clock on the far wall, indicating that in only an hour, the sun would rise.

He had not slept that night.

Once the Order meeting disbanded and Albus had left with the others to the Department of Mysteries, Severus had returned to Hogwarts. He could not be seen at the Ministry, especially when the Dark Lord had not ordered him to be there.

Exiting the dungeons, he made quick work of leaving the castle through hidden passageways, trying to deduce what had happened at the Ministry. The Dark Lord would not have called him to celebrate, so there must have been something that went wrong.

He calmed his anxious thoughts as he silently left the castle grounds, briskly walking to a point where the Anti-Disapparition Jinx ended. Albus had not returned with Potter yet either, so it was appropriate to conclude that the Ministry skirmish had just met its conclusion.

Pressing the tip of his wand to his left arm, he pivoted and Disapparated from the grounds.

He landed with practiced grace, immediately recognizing the building before him—the Riddle House. He presented his Dark Mark to the black gates, feeling the magic accept him in when he walked forward as if the gates were made of smoke. The enchantment materialized behind him, blocking off wizards and muggles alike.

Severus strode through the cold and dark halls of the building, already picking up voices as he neared the innermost chamber. The door was surprisingly open and he could hear a familiar voice wailing quietly.

"—knew not! I was fighting Animagus Black! Master, I tried, I—"

A shrill scream pierced the air, full of agony and torment. Severus did not have to see to know what was happening.

He entered the open doors to find the Dark Lord standing at the head of the room, his wand pointed towards a writhing figure beneath him. The very air was thick with angry magic; it was difficult to breathe.

The screams stopped as his red eyes looked up, locking them with his.

Severus emptied his thoughts.

"My Lord," he bowed steadily, ignoring the pants of pain from the woman on the floor. "You called?"

"Severus," he hissed in greeting, fury evident in his voice. "Months of preparation… months of effort… and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again…"

He did not reply, as the writhing figure of Bellatrix Lestrange began to plead on the floor.

"Master—"

"Be silent, Bella," Voldemort commanded, immediately cutting off her whimpers. Whether he meant to magically silence her or not, the chamber became quiet once more. "My prophecy smashed… eleven of my Death Eaters, captured to Azkaban… thwarted by Harry Potter and five _children."_

"The situation may not be entirely unsalvageable, my Lord," he supplied evenly, hiding his surprise. The situation was far worse than he thought. "The Ministry does not believe—"

"The Ministry has seen my return," he revealed, eyes briefly looking down at Bellatrix with rage. "The cover has been compromised. Dumbledore will return to Hogwarts, Potter will once more be out of my grasp."

Severus put all the new information into consideration, analyzing every point and perspective in order to give an adequate response.

"Dumbledore will need to be closely watched," he said at last. "He will undoubtedly strike when our numbers have been cut."

Voldemort seemed to consider it. "Logical, but unlikely. Dumbledore's greatest downfall after all, is his inability to kill. If he does strike, it will not be a direct force."

Severus begrudgingly agreed, still unable to grasp the idea of Albus's bleeding heart.

"And the ones captured?" he asked. "The Dementors may follow your orders, but surely, the Ministry will remove their guard over Azkaban now that your return has been revealed."

"Yes…" Voldemort narrowed his eyes, shifting his wand within his long fingers. "Another breakout can not be done easily so soon… They will simply wait there—a mercy compared to their failure since my prophecy has been broken."

Severus nearly smiled with relish. It would probably be another year before he had to deal with the inept fools of those eleven again.

"Then what of your plans for the ruined prophecy, my Lord?" he inquired once more. "It is possible that one of the children heard the words as it broke. Searching their minds would be no difficult matter."

Voldemort gave something akin to a smile, as if the suggestion amused him.

"A fair proposal, but I have seen the truth within Potter's worthless mind . . . It is a shame, but the prophecy is now out of my hands." He paused for a brief moment, scowling as if thinking of something unpleasant.

"It was my error," he continued, looking away now. "I did not think Lucius so incompetent on fetching me a simple prophecy from the boy. His leadership was my mistake—one I will not make twice."

From the corner of his eye, Severus saw Nagini slither towards them, flicking its split tongue as if to taste the air of her next meal. Bellatrix jerked back ever so slightly, unable to make a sound with her locked jaw.

"But you, Severus… you would not have failed me, as you have yet to. I should not have left you from this attack regardless of your unique position within Hogwarts… Yes… Lucius's loss will be something he will pay for dearly."

"Never would I fail you, my Lord," he replied, carefully not commenting on Lucius's failure.

A sharp glint flashed through Voldemort's eyes as he took a few steps forward, slow and deliberate towards Severus.

"Lucius's son…" he began, the beginnings of a mock smile forming on his face. "I met the boy just last winter… young Draco, is it not?"

Severus nearly faltered. "Yes."

"Has his schooling been complete?" he asked, mouth still curved.

"No, my Lord," he answered, doubling his Occlumency shields. He could not allow a single thread of emotion to slip through. "Two years yet remain."

"Bring him to me."

He did hesitate this time. "My Lord?"

Voldemort waved his wand hand, gesturing to the chamber. "Here, Severus. Go and fetch the boy. _Bring him to me_."

He could not pause again.

"As you wish," he bowed swiftly.

Turning on his heel, he heard the silencing spell on Bellatrix be lifted as he walked away. Screams continued to break the night as he left the manor.

Once he had Apparated back to the castle, he allowed a slither of his thoughts to run through his mind. The Dark Lord had never requested to see someone unmarked before, let alone a child. Something big was going to happen and Severus didn't know if he would be able to stop it.

The sun had risen now, casting long shadows against the ground as Severus silently slipped back inside the castle walls. He made his way to the Slytherin Dungeons, briefly wondering if the Order had made it back with Potter and his group. They must have been by now.

He considered speaking to Albus about the Dark Lord's request, but trashed the thought immediately. The command had already been made and explaining the situation was wasting precious time that he could not afford. He would have to protect the boy on his own.

Slipping out of a secret passageway, Severus padded down the cold corridor, walking up to the hidden portrait that connected to the Slytherin common room. It was early on a weekend, so he was not surprised to find his path empty. The painting clicked open for him, he stepped inside.

A lone figure jumped to his feet from across the common room and Severus recognized the mop of white blond hair immediately.

"Professor!" Draco called, his surprised face visible even with the low light. "Is it bad? Have you found them, sir? Is—"

"No time," he cut in; scowling when he realized the boy was still in yesterday's uniform. So he had not slept either. "Follow me. Quickly."

He turned on his heel, not waiting for Draco to ask more questions. To his relief, the boy followed right away, slipping out of the portrait door.

"Is Granger all right?" he blurted, voice low and wide-eyed as if Severus's answer would make or break him.

Something in his chest ached.

"I do not know the details of her welfare," he grounded out, picking up his pace. "But this is not about Miss Granger, or even about Potter for the matter."

A flash of confusion skipped through the boy's eyes.

"Then—"

"Not here," he interrupted again, deciding to take the main entrance out of the castle. He could not use the secret passageways while Draco was with him. "We are leaving the castle. I will explain outside."

Obediently, Draco did not ask any more questions as they climbed the stairs out of the dungeons.

It was two corridors later that someone practically ran into Severus as he turned the corner.

"Oh my—I apo—oh Severus!" the person gasped, stepping away and allowing him to identify her.

"Poppy," he greeted curtly, impatience curling into his voice. There was Dark Lord waiting on him after all. "Isn't it a bit early for a walk?"

"I was just on my way to see you," she rattled quickly, her accent thickening in her haste. "My stocks of Dittany are low, and I've got five patients in quick need—four actually—oh dear."

"You know my stores are open for you," he nodded, already having given the Matron permission long ago. He gave Draco a quick glance before turning back to the nurse. "Your patients, Poppy, are they the Gryffindors?"

"Yes, yes," she nodded, her face scrunching in distress. "They came to me all battered right around dawn, and—oh Severus—I had to send one to St. Mungo's, I don't know if she'll make it."

"Who?" he immediately asked, feeling Draco stiffen next to him.

Poppy sniffled. "Miss Granger. I don't know _what_ she was hit with—white as a sheet, no pulse—

"I understand, thank you, Poppy," Severus quickly intervened, putting a hand on Draco's back to push him. "We'll be on our way then."

Without waiting for a proper farewell, Severus walked around the Matron, steering Draco along with him. He could feel the boy's heart beat erratically through his back, and felt a twinge of unease.

They left the castle walls without another word to each other, when they reached past the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, he turned to Draco.

"The Dark Lord has called for you," he said at last, watching the boy look up in alarm, as if his words had brought him back to reality. "Prepare your mind, Draco, he is not in a pleasant mood."

"Called for… _me_?" he all but uttered, voice slightly broken. "What happened, sir?"

Severus thinned his lips. "There has been a skirmish at the Ministry and your father, who led the assault, did not succeed. He, along ten others were captured and taken to Azkaban a few hours ago."

The boy's jaw lowered and his chest stilled as if he wasn't breathing. Severus could see Draco making his own wild connections in his head, trying to take in all the information at once.

"My father… is in Azkaban?"

"Yes," he confirmed with a sigh. "Understand, Draco, that I do not know the whole story myself as I was not present. Are you ready to see the Dark Lord?"

It was clearly overwhelming him.

"Professor," he murmured, his voice shaking in a rare sign of vulnerability and fear. "I—I don't think—"

"Remember my words," he urged impatiently. "You must guard that mind of yours—there is no more time to prepare."

Draco looked like every bit of a lost man, trying to form his reply; it strung something deep within Severus. Again.

"Granger—"

"Miss Granger will live," he said sharply. "However if you do not protect that mind of yours, she will fall under his hand as will you and I."

He swallowed thickly, shutting his eyes and released a quick exhale. After a silent moment, Draco nodded once, taking his outstretched arm.

Severus warped him in a side-along Apparition, landing on the pavement to the Riddle House a moment later. Wordlessly, he looked towards the blonde, noting the blank look on his face with some relief. They approached the black gates, and Severus raised his left arm as he had done before. The gateway visibly blurred, and he stepped through the spell, making sure to hold onto Draco as he entered. As long as they were connected, the enchantments would not combust the boy on the spot.

The house was eerily quiet as they entered, their footfalls echoed in the empty corridors. He approached the innermost chamber once more, noting that the doors were still closed as he had left them.

Putting a hand to the wood, he gave Draco a quick glance, receiving the barest of nods in return.

It was now or never.

Pushing in the door, he stepped in first, Draco only a pace behind him. The Dark Lord was sitting down now, a hand under Nagini's chin, hissing something in Parseltongue. To the far left, Bellatrix was still crumpled on the floor, unmoving.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming. "So you've come."

"My Lord," he greeted, "I have brought him as you asked."

Draco gave a similar greeting, bowing deeper towards the floor.

Voldemort did not rise from his seat, but turned his eyes to the boy, staring intensely. Severus slightly held his breath, knowing that the Dark Lord was searching Draco's mind. After a tense moment, his gaze lessened and something close to curiosity glistened in them.

"Severus," he called, neither malice nor welcome in his tone. "Are you aware that Draco's mind is similar to yours?"

"Is it, my Lord?" he feigned interest, glancing at Draco as if he had seen him for the first time. "He would do well to serve you then."

"He would indeed, do _well_ to serve me," Voldemort said, his statement sounding more like a threat than a simple agreement. "He shall succeed where Lucius has failed."

Draco gave a curt bow. "Your will is mine to carry, my Lord."

Voldemort seemed pleased. "Severus, leave us."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments of before nodding.

"And take Bella with you," the Dark Lord added, as if he had forgotten about her presence. "Her punishment for her failure will not be so easily overlooked. Leave her in the Grey Room."

"Yes, my Lord."

Severus walked over to Bellatrix's limp body with distaste, pulling out his wand and giving it a well-practiced flick. Her body levitated a good distance from the ground, he maneuvered her out of the inner chamber.

He gave one last look to the back of Draco's head before the door shut on him, closing in his greatest fear and his greatest hope.


	24. Questions over Answers

Disclaimer: So I still don't own Harry Potter, but I do own the laptop this story is written on, and I'll be happy enough with that. But seriously, if this site was like Youtube, and you could add advertisements for the number of views you got, eventually paying the bills, I'd quit school and write fanfiction for life. I suppose that's why a lot of Youtubers can do their video-making thing full time without worry. Think about it: for all the fanfiction authors on this site that spend their time and energy making good quality work (and there are a lot out there), imagine how many of them could find the motivation to be full fledged authors of original works if fanfiction hosting websites gave them some sort of boost. It's really something I find myself thinking about.

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Chapter 24: Questions over Answers

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Two days after the final term of Hogwarts ended, Hermione was officially released from St. Mungo's. She had adamantly refused to be behind on her studies while incapacitated in a bed, she had requested all homework and reports be brought to her no matter how much the Healers protested.

When she questioned about the happenings at school, Ron had joyfully informed her with a mouth full of chocolate that Umbridge had been carried off by a herd of Centaurs—it was a miracle that Dumbledore was able to bring her back. All in all, the redhead seemed unfazed and back to normal.

Harry on the other hand had been a complete mess when he visited and she could tell the air between him and Ron was barely held by the latter's silence regarding Sirius. There were dark patches under his eyes and his hair was messier than usual, sticking out in odd angles. Hermione hadn't said anything. She had simply hugged the broken boy, their time had passed quietly after that.

By the time Hermione left St. Mungo's, she was neck deep in sweets and gifts. A Healer had been kind enough to give her a small bag, spelled with a limited Extension Charm. She had gaped at how her entire arm seemed to fit into the fist-sized bag and swore to learn the spell the moment she could.

July came slipping in quietly, Hermione flooed herself to London, clutching Dumbledore's letter in one hand. She had received quite a surprise when a school standard Barn Owl came swooping through her window early in the morning, startling Faris and causing him to screech moodily at the newcomer. In the letter, Dumbledore had advised her to take the Apparition course over the summer instead of waiting for the Ministry to provide the class at Hogwarts. She couldn't understand his sudden urgency, but accepted the task anyway, hoping to have a talk with the Headmaster about her current predicament.

Hermione walked over to the visitor's entrance of the Ministry in deep thought, slipping into the red telephone box. After being released from St. Mungo's she had sent a short letter to Draco, but Faris had returned the same day empty handed. Letting anger and stubbornness get the best of her, she sent Faris again the same week, demanding for answers, but her owl had returned without a single shred of parchment.

Shaking herself from those thoughts, Hermione dialed the appropriate numbers in the pad.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," the cool female voice echoed through the close quarters. "Please state your name and business."

"Hermione Granger, here to take the Apparition course."

"Thank you. Visitor, please take your badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

She grabbed the badge from the metal chute and hooked it onto her robes, trying not to jerk back as the floor shuddered and began to move underground.

Hermione took a steadying breath as she waited for the lift door to open, trying to keep her mind from wandering.

"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day."

At the quiet _ding_, Hermione stepped out from the box and made her way towards the golden gates. She received short instructions from Professor Dumbledore on where to go, passed the ornate statues and the glittering foundation, taking her place behind the long line for security.

Ever since the new Minister had been appointed along with the news of Voldemort's return, the security within the ministry had tightened considerably. She handed off her wand to the guard and watched him drop it into a small crack. It vibrated quietly and released a thin length of parchment.

"Ten and three-quarter inches, dragon heartstring core, been in use for five years. Is that right?"

"Yes," she replied, taking her wand back. "Thank you."

Slipping her wand back into her robes, Hermione made her way to the lifts, sliding behind a smaller group of people. They all looked at her curiously, probably wondering what a student witch was doing by herself after Voldemort's return had been announced. Hardly anyone traveled alone nowadays, especially if you were not of age.

Straightening her back, she inwardly thanked Dumbledore's interference that covered most of the story during the Ministry skirmish. No one would recognize her name as one of the kids who broke into the Department of Mysteries, as Harry was the only name to have been published regarding the story.

When an empty lift appeared, Hermione ignored the other visitors and slipped into the cramped space, finding herself squished between two old wizards. She felt the lift descend as multiple people flung their hands out to grab something. After waiting for a few stops, she heard her exit.

"Level six, Department of Magical Transportation, incorporating the Floo Network Authority, Broom Regulatory Control, Portkey Office and Apparition Test Center."

She squeezed out of the lift as multiple paper airplanes zoomed in, charmed to fly to their designated recipient. After glancing around, Hermione walked up straight to the front desk, still clutching Dumbledore's note in one hand.

The old woman at the desk looked up sharply. "Welcome to the Department of Magical Transportation. I'm Beth Leicester, how can I help you, dear?"

"My name's Hermione Granger," she greeted firmly. "I'm here to apply for my Apparition license."

"Ah," Beth looked at her knowingly, clicking her tongue. "One of those that failed during school, is it? No matter, you can retake your test here—"

She shook her head quickly. "No, actually, I'm just going into my sixth year at Hogwarts."

"Sixth year?" the wrinkles on Beth's forehead deepened. "And your date of birth?"

"Nineteenth of September, nineteen seventy-nine."

A look of understanding passed through her face. "Oh, you're one of those odd balls that's about a year older than everyone else. Let me see…"

Hermione tried not to frown at Beth's words. She didn't really consider herself an odd ball as the older witch so clearly put it; it wasn't her fault that she had just missed the cut-off in September.

"Oh, dear!" Beth's eyes widened, looking at a sheet of parchment. "You were already appointed by Albus Dumbledore. Goodness, why hadn't you said so? Wilkie Twycross is waiting for you in the Apparition Center—go on!"

Startled by the sudden impatience in Beth's voice, Hermione nodded feebly and left the front desk. She walked to where the older witch had pointed; passing by curious glances and mangled Quidditch players who were arguing very loudly. She stopped right under the sign that read _Apparition Center_, took a steadying breath and opened the door.

She stepped into a large room that could only be compared to a muggle school gym. The place was echoing with voices, sectioned off into squares by glowing red marks. At least a half dozen people were inside wearing the standard Ministry uniform, holding a sheet of parchment in their hands. Hermione watched with fascination as witches and wizards apparated in and out of the room, landing right within a small wooden circle if they had succeeded.

"Ah, Miss Granger I presume?"

Hermione turned around to face a rather thin wizard with dark wispy hair, the beginning of old age appearing on his face. There was a kind, but stern aura about the man that immediately reminded her of Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, pleasure to meet you," she nodded. "And you are Professor Twycross?"

"That I am indeed," he shot her a small smile. "Dumbledore has sent me his letter of your plan for this summer. He seems highly confident in your skills to perfect Apparition under twelve weeks and I am to say Miss Granger, that I am eager to see your aptitude."

Feeling her back straighten at his words, Hermione nodded again. "I'll do my very best, sir."

"Very well, follow me."

Professor Twycross led her to one of the empty squares in the corner of the room and placed a wooden ring on the floor. He gestured for her to stand behind it, which she did.

"Have you ever experienced side-along apparition before?" he asked casually.

"Yes, I have."

"Good, good, then recall that feeling," he suggested. "Now I want you to focus on these three points: Destination, Determination and Deliberation. Look at the interior of the hoop—there we go—that is your destination."

Hermione stared at the circle in front of her, boring the image of the hoop into her mind. She didn't know if using her Occlumency would help, but she implored the idea, using her shields for force back irrelevant thoughts.

"Now focus on your determination," Twycross continued. "Think about your intent to occupy that space. You must feel it with every particle of your mind and body. That is where you wish to be."

Determination… Hermione had a lot of that. She repeated to herself that she wanted to be within that hoop, she needed to get there at all costs.

"And the last step, deliberation. On my command, you will turn on the spot and concentrate on moving into the hoop. Ready now? One… two… three!"

She pivoted on her heel as she felt her stomach lurch uncomfortably, her eyes squeezed shut and she tried to focus on the hoop. She heard a loud bang and pain ran up her lower back as she opened her eyes once again, realizing that the noise had resulted from her landing unceremoniously on her bottom. She looked around, amazed to see that the wooden ring was under her.

"Simply well done, Miss Granger!" Professor Twycross was clapping his hands, a smile on his face. "I've never had a student who had actually Apparated more than three feet much less successfully into the hoop on their first try! Marvelously done!"

Feeling incredibly satisfied with herself, Hermione pushed herself off the floor and readjusted her hoop. A wave of dizziness hit her and she swayed to the right before catching herself.

"Thank you, sir…"

"Now you must work on your landing," he supplied. "I did not except you to master landing on your feet until next month but I believe my standards have now been raised. Dumbledore's words were rightfully place, I say."

Hermione smiled weakly back at him, suddenly feeling much more tired than she had ten seconds ago.

"Now let's try again—I will increase the distance a bit—"

Professor Twycross grabbed the ring and dragged it a few feet further, Hermione felt a stab of anxiety reach her chest.

This wasn't going to be as easy as she had thought.

.

Two weeks after her first Apparition lesson, Hermione rediscovered Ginny's letter lying under her trunk, requesting that she stay at the Burrow for the summer.

In all honesty—and a little bit of guilt—she had completely forgotten about it. Her parents had pulled her along for a two-week camping trip to Gloucestershire and Dumbledore's letter came in barely two days after her return.

Deciding that there was nothing to hold her back now, she scribbled back a response, agreeing to floo over by next Sunday. According to Ginny's letter, Harry had arrived near the beginning of summer and Mrs. Weasley was in need of more witches in the house. She had briefly mentioned that Fleur Delacour was now staying with them due to her engagement will Bill and she too, was in need of Hermione's presence.

She sent Faris ahead with her reply letter, informing the owl to stay at the Burrow unless they sent her back.

"Hermione! You've got an owl!"

Perking up at her mum's voice, she powered down the carpeted steps, finding a very handsome tawny resting on an open window still by the kitchen. It had a rather large square envelope attached to its right leg.

"Oh he's beautiful," Athena breathed, wiping her hands on the apron. "Who's it from?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, freeing the owl of his burden. "I think it's from Professor Twycross. You know, the one from the Ministry. It certainly looks very official."

The moment it was free, the owl flew away, leaving Hermione to slip open the envelope. Perhaps the Professor had to reschedule. Shrugging, she unfolded the parchment inside.

**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

Hermione felt her jaw sag out of shock, her eyes widening to the point of pain. Her body froze, she swore she heard her mum say something out of concern, but she couldn't hear a thing.

Eleven 'O's were neatly printed on the side; next to every single subject she had taken that year.

"Oh what _is it_?" her mum leaned over her shoulder. "Ordinary Wizarding Level results…? What are—Oh—Hermione, are these test scores? The really important O.W.L.s you've been telling me about all last year?"

She nodded numbly.

"Congratulations!" she cheered, bringing her into a full body hug. "This is just wonderful news! I knew you could do it! I am so, _so_ proud of you!"

A weak laugh escaped her lips as Hermione felt the world lift from her shoulders. She couldn't half-believe herself.

"Yeah," she whispered, eyes still glued to the parchment as if it would disappear. "I really did it."

And it felt like nothing could take away that happiness.

When all the giddy feelings about achieving perfect scores had toned away, Hermione clambered back upstairs, intent on finishing her yearly clean out of her school trunk.

Closing the door behind her, Hermione set the parchment very carefully onto her desk, leaning it against the back like it was framed. Letting out one more giggle of joy, she spun on her foot, setting herself down in the middle of a messy room.

It was time for work.

Reaching into her open trunk, Hermione began unpacking, organizing everything into neat stacks starting from the corner. She removed all her old clothes that had grown rather small, deciding that she would have to go dress shopping before September. She threw away broken and mangled quills into the trash pile, tossing empty ink bottles and unrecognizable parchment in which she had scribbled some nonsensical words onto.

As she was setting aside her fifth year textbooks, a small paperback book slipped onto her lap from the large pile. She absentmindedly reached to toss it back with the rest, when the title caught her eye: _Wuthering Heights._

It was the last muggle book she had given to Draco last summer.

Her chest tightened suddenly as memories of their book exchange flew through her mind, she was once again filled with confusion and anger at his blatant and sudden farewell.

She didn't understand him. A small part of her was still hoping this was all an incredibly long dream and she would see Draco again in their room the following Thursday.

Their room.

A broken sigh escaped her, she rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hands. When had she started considering the Room of Requirement as _their room_? She had been so accustomed to their routine of meeting every week, breaking herself out of that mold felt painful.

_And why? _Hermione clenched her jaw, trying to slow down her shaking breaths. Why had he given up? Why had he… left her?

She swallowed back her inner turmoil, trying to think of logical answers. Had she deluded herself into thinking that they could continue their little charade of secretive touches and glances? She remembered telling him that they would face problems when they came, so was this his answer to their problem? Give up?

And what exactly was the problem? She knew Draco's father had been captured and sent to Azkaban; there was no doubt that Voldemort was furious with his loss of the prophecy. Draco could have been angry with his father's capture and detainment, resenting the her and the Order who fought in the Ministry that day didn't seem like a far fetched idea. She certainly couldn't bear to imagine her own parents suffering under the hand of Dementors in Azkaban.

But then came her real problem; where did his heart lie in all of this? Hermione had never been able to get a straight answer from him. Disregarding his difference in behavior towards her, there was nothing that indicated him wanting to actually go _against _his father's footsteps. She didn't have the faintest idea of what was going through that mind of his. Especially now that he had decided to cut all contact with her, Hermione could have just as well concluded that Draco was turning away from her.

That she had lost him.

Her cheeks became tracked with tears before she had even realized it, and she quickly wiped her palm across her face, taking deep breaths. The irreparable ache in her chest returned as she thought about the situation longer.

She didn't want him to go. She didn't want for him to be angry with her. There were still so many things that she had yet to say to him, she couldn't bear the thought of Draco being lost now. She wouldn't do it.

Hermione stared at the paperback book in her hand through tear-ridden eyes, her sense of stubbornness resurfacing again. Draco might have let go of her hand, but she damn well hadn't let go of him. He might have given up on himself but she hadn't given up on him. Not yet. She had promised him at least that much. There must be something… _something_ she could do for him.

After staring at the book for another minute, Hermione noticed a sharp corner sticking out from the bottom. She frowned and pulled the cover back, letting a folded piece of parchment fall onto her lap. Her eyes widened slightly as she remembered how they wrote small thoughts on each other's books. She had completely forgotten about it when he returned it to her.

Dropping the book, she grabbed the delicate sheet from her thigh and flipped it open, finding his refined script looking back at her for the last time.

_All the characters in this story are pushed around by this flimsy thing called the heart and look how it leads them to their deaths. I suppose nothing good comes from listening to emotions. I don't understand how these muggles would give everything for nothing, but then again, I'm no muggle so I'll never be in their situation. Is it not strange to you? It's a bit funny, Granger, because I think emotions suit you._

Hermione let her eyes linger over his letter, feeling the aged parchment bend under her fingers. It looked old. He must have finished reading the book and had written this postscript nearly a year ago.

And was the story strange to her? She pondered the question, pulling out the details of _Wuthering Heights_ from the back of her mind. A story about the obstruction of social class, falling into passion and jealousy and ultimately dying without really accomplishing what they truly desired. It was a strange choice of literature now that she thought about it, she didn't remember what she was thinking when she picked the book out for him.

Her eyes drifted to the last sentence of his letter, giving herself a moment to think it over. There was something oddly conflicting about his statement regarding the heart and the emotions depicted in the story. It almost sounded as if he was being judged from a different standard compared to her; that sentimental emotions suited her but had no place with him. It also could have been a subtle insult to her muggle-born status, but she wanted to believe Draco had seen beyond that when he wrote this.

Sighing, Hermione returned the book to its rightful position on the shelf and resumed packing her trunk. She had wasted nearly an hour feeling sorry for herself while losing her head over his letters. This wasn't her. She needed to get back into her unshakable mindset. She would right things again when the opportunity came and for now, she would simply sit back and prepare for that chance to come.

It was the only thing she _could_ do.

.

Hermione huffed as she dropped the other end of a large couch, wishing she were seventeen already. If she didn't have the Ministry's Trace on her, she would have been able to levitate all the damn furniture across their yard.

Every few years, Athena Granger would decide that she had enough of their current furnishings and revamp the place. Hermione had simply shrugged and went along with the idea, having missed the last renovation that happened a few summers back.

She sorely regretted not going to the Burrow sooner.

Her back and arm muscles ached from all the lifting and shuffling, it was a miracle that she was still standing.

"All right, Hermione?" her dad gave amused smile, no doubt reading her thoughts.

"I'll live," she supplied, pushing her end of the couch against the storeroom wall. "I admit; I underestimated mum's passion for new furniture."

He chuckled, raking back his sandy hair with his hands. "You haven't seen anything yet. Just wait until the new tables come in."

She paled at the thought. "I think I need to sit down."

"I'll bring some water," he said with another laugh, setting down the work gloves. "We can start reorganizing this room after a break."

Hermione didn't argue as she watched her dad leave the storeroom. She practically fell onto the couch, releasing a large sigh as she went. Three more days until Sunday and then she would be heading to the Burrow for the remainder of the summer.

Her tired eyes glanced around the room, taking in all the forgotten items that had been left to gather dust over the years. An old bookcase stood in front of her, housing stacks of different patterned fabric, rolls of yarn and thread and a worn out sewing machine that had been shoved into the bottom shelf. A few folded chairs and a wooden dinner table leaned against the east wall, an ancient desk lamp placed precariously near the corner. She noticed a few musical instruments to her left, and felt a pang of regret when she remembered that the grand piano had been sold when they moved.

Hermione pushed herself off the couch, noticing that the old piano bench hadn't been sold with it. Maybe all her books were still inside. She wondered if she could still read music.

Approaching the bench—which was actually a large rectangular box of some sort—she tugged at the fabric cover, trying to get the protective wrapper off without damaging it. She had to admit; her mum had done a good job sewing everything together. After a few moments of strategic pulling, she pushed down the rest of the white-laced cover, revealing the bench's true form.

It definitely wasn't a bench.

An old brown and silver trunk sat amidst the white fabric; it looked to be made of some sort of dark wood, but she couldn't be positive. Thick lines of silver rimmed the edges and ran around the entire crate, indicating the lid, though there were no handles, locks, or any imprint that showed how to open it. Close to simply forgoing the entire trunk and sitting back down to rest, it was then she noticed a faded carving in the center, lined across the silver bar.

αἰὲν ἀριστεύειν

Scooting closer, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the inscription, trying to decipher the familiar, yet foreign letters. Definitely wasn't modern English. The memory of studying an ancient marble statue came to the forefront of her mind and she stared back at the two words in recognition.

The letters were Greek.

Lifting her hand, she traced her fingers over the inscription, feeling irritated that she was unable to translate it as of now. She _knew_ she should have studied Greek as well as Latin.

It was so small that Hermione had nearly missed it, but sure enough, a short pulse of magic slipped through her fingers without her consent. She jerked her arm back as if she had been stung, causing her to gracelessly fall on her backside.

Before she could wonder, a series of clicks ran inside the trunk as it began to expand upwards in size, and the lid flipped open on its own. Inside was another trunk of similar design that stretched vertically, separating itself into drawers like a cabinet. Objects near the trunk were being forcibly shoved aside as it continued to grow; Hermione quickly grabbed the empty picture frames before they could fall and inevitably break. Right as she pulled the frames to safety, the trunk stopped expanding.

For a second, she could only stare, stunned into silence.

This was a magical trunk. She had seen a whole lot of them in Diagon Alley her first year. Shaking her head, she forced herself to analyze the innocent looking cabinet for anything that seemed out of place. She wished she could check the trunk with magic, but she couldn't risk expulsion when the Ministry detected it.

Dropping the old picture frames, she rose to her feet and approached the trunk with caution. Holding her breath, she pulled back the lid to one compartment and jumped back instinctively.

Nothing appeared.

Feeling somewhat pathetic, Hermione peered inside with all her supposed Gryffindor courage, surprised to find nothing but textbooks. She would attend to those later. Shutting the lid, she wandered her hand over to the top most cabinet drawer and pulled it out slowly.

She first noticed a small, leather bound journal in the center of the sectioned drawer. Flipping the cover back with delicate fingers, she focused in on the white words that decorated the inner binding.

_Property of Iris Dagworth_

She frowned at the unfamiliar name and possible owner of the trunk, but decided to impose on it along with the textbooks at a later time.

All her doubt of the trunk's magical origins vanished when she spotted the sectioned area to the right. In one corner were badges of all sizes, but she recognized the top most one: a Head Boy badge from Hogwarts. The design was slightly different from what she remembered, but the title and school symbol were as clear as day. Two more Head Boy, as well as Head Girl badges followed after. A black wand lay innocently beneath the emblems, but Hermione didn't dare to give it a wave.

Next to the wand was a cylindrical device that looked large enough to fit snuggly in her hand. Noticing the inscription on the side, she gingerly plucked it from the carpeted base, twisting it to see the same Greek letters that had marked the trunk's lid. Promising to learn what the letters meant later, Hermione searched to see what the device was for any buttons or openings.

She didn't feel her magic leave her this time.

A black blade as long as her forearm shot out from the top, causing her to curse in alarm and drop the weapon; it clattered to the floor with its blade pointed towards her feet. Her hand immediately went to her side, grabbing her wand to cast a _protego_, but became unnecessary as the blade retracted a moment later, sealing the top once more.

Breathing rapidly, Hermione grabbed the safe end of the device turning weapon and set it into the drawer quickly.

No more touching things.

She had been staring at a large ring, marked by the face of an owl, when she heard her name being called.

Instinctively, she grabbed the original lid and slammed it down on the cabinet, praying it would close. It did as she hoped. The trunk began to shrink once more to its original form as she heard footsteps climb up the stairs.

The last of the hidden seals relocked as the trunk shut and Steven Granger appeared in the doorway.

"Hermione?" he poked his head inside. "Sorry, I got preoccupied with the delivery lot and—what are you doing?"

The witch looked at herself and realized she was in a defensive stance, her wand in her hand from when she grabbed it earlier. She quickly stowed it away and forced herself to relax.

"Just rehearsing my form," she said lightly. "Don't want to get out of practice."

Her dad's eyes looked inquisitive to her awful lie, but bought it anyway. "Well, I'm sure you're terribly exhausted. Come down and take a breather. We can fix the storeroom later."

"Actually," she said after a moment of hesitation, gesturing to the trunk, "I was wondering about our old piano bench. I wanted to see if the music sheets were inside—"

"And you couldn't open it, right?" he answered knowingly, giving her a grin. "Don't worry about it. It's apparently been in your mum's side of the family for years and no one was able to get it open either."

She frowned. "I—wait, what?"

"Oh yeah," he chuckled easily, walking over to the trunk and patting it was some sort of fondness. The lid didn't respond to his touch. "You know your Grandfather, Momus, who passed away when you were young—mum's side—he sent the trunk to me and said I had to open it in order to marry Athena . . . Well, let's just say it's a good thing your mother knew what this was when she saw me with it."

Hermione was about to smack her forehead in realization. Granger was her mother's last name. No wonder all her searching for her magical lineage stopped at 'Steven Granger'. She inwardly sighed; if the trunk meant anything, it was that magic came from her mother's family.

"So no one could open it?" she asked, careful not to touch the trunk herself.

He shook his head. "I tell you, I don't know what this thing's made out of, but the wood doesn't scratch, it's hammer-resisting, it withstood everything I've tried. And apparently everything your ancestors tried. Unfortunately, I don't think there's anything inside because the whole trunk is as light as a feather and there's no sound when you shake it."

"So it became our piano bench?"

"That would be your mum," he replied with a laugh. "She was so excited to get the piano delivered, she completely forgot about the seat. But I think it worked out quite well."

Hermione nodded. "What about the Greek inscription?"

"Is that what language it is?" he turned, scrunching his eyes as he looked at the letters. "I was told it translates to, 'Ever to Excel'. Some sort of old motto . . . But Greek, huh? Funny how that works out."

She waited, staring at him to continue to his train of thought. His eyes met hers for a moment before he blinked in clear confusion.

"Don't tell me she never told you?" he inquired.

"Mum never told me what?" she pressed a bit impatiently. "What about the Greek motto?"

"Not necessarily the motto," he began, "I'm talking about the… well, you know how your mother's side all have Greek based names?"

"We do?" Hermione said, "I mean—_everyone_ on her side?"

His face scrunched in thought and ran his fingers against his slightly unshaven jaw. "Believe so. At least, the ones she's told me and I remember. Anyway, when she got pregnant with you, she told me that Greek names are a tradition in her family and she'll just know what to name you soon enough."

"Just know?" she repeated in obvious disbelief.

"That is the _same_ expression I gave your mum when she said that," he grinned. "Though she proved me wrong. Listen, you should ask her for the details, but from what I remember, she had this dream for around a month near your birth."

"About?" she leaned forward.

He smiled. "It goes something like this . . . There was a mailman that would walk through the neighborhood doing his usual job in the bright light of the morning. When he was done and everyone was happy, his shoes grew golden wings and he took into the skies."

She frowned, not finding the connections at all. "I don't get it."

"Think for a second," he said, excitement creeping into his voice. "Do you know where your name derives from?"

It clicked.

"Hermes," she whispered, open-mouthed. "The messenger. The god of boundaries and the one who was able to move freely between the two worlds: the gods and the mortals."

"Precisely," he continued to grin. "Now this didn't make any sense to me until five years ago, when your Professor appeared at our doorstep and declared that you belonged to the magical world as well as the non-magical one."

She nodded slowly, processing the information. "Well. That's…"

"A mad coincidence?" he inputted, meeting her gaze. "I don't think so, at least not anymore. And I'll bet you anything that this trunk right here—is anything but an ordinary coincidence. Quite… magical, if you ask me."

Hermione stared at the trunk, feeling all sorts of questions swirl through her mind. This was where all her answers lied. If it had been truly passed down from her ancestors who were supposedly magical, it would be able to prove Cato's theory. Still a flawed theory in her opinion, but a start, nonetheless.

But it wouldn't change anything.

She inwardly smiled. She would still be the proud muggle-born witch, regardless of what answers she found in that trunk; she would promise herself at least that much.

"I guess we'll see," she said at last, looking back to her dad. "But I'll take that break now. I don't think inhaling copious amounts of dust did anything to hydrate me."

"Well come on then," he smiled, leading her out the stuffy room. "Your mum's whipping up something, the last I saw."

Closing the storeroom door behind her, she followed after him down the stairs. "Hey dad?"

"Hm?"

"Speaking of mum," she said curiously, "how _did_ she get her name?"

She heard a muffled noise that sounded like a mix of a laugh and a cough. "Ah well, she apparently gave her mother the worst headaches in the world."

Hermione smiled at the thought.

* * *

A/N: I had a last minute change of plans, so there will now be two summer chapters instead of one. I know this story is more or less Dramione centric, but the workings/origins of magic is a really interesting and fun concept for me to play with, I keep coming back to it.

For some brief Greek Mythology brush up, Hermione was the only child of the infamous Helen of Troy and the King of Sparta, named after the messenger god, Hermes (I honestly didn't make that up). Athena is the goddess of wisdom and war, and Momus represents satire, mockery and poetry. JK Rowling has a noticeable use of mythological names, and I decided to play off that fact. 'Ever to Excel' is an actual motto used in a lot of educational institutions today. It derives from the sixth book of Homer's iliad, and I thought it fit well with Hermione's character.

On a side note, I am starting school again next week, so if the updates start to slow, that will be why. I'll do my best to keep consistent though, I've got a lot planned for sixth year and beyond. Leave me with your thoughts, and I'll see you guys soon!

El


	25. Miscalculated Detour

Disclaimer: Regarding the last chapter's note, I just want to say thank you to everyone who informed me about the writing contests, it's definitely something I'll keep in plans for the future! I unfortunately can't submit _Inverse_ as of now because they only accept finished works, but I suppose it just fuels me to write faster. You guys are all lovely though, and I appreciate the encouragement. Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter of course.

* * *

Chapter 25: Miscalculated Detour

.

When Saturday arrived, Hermione flooed to the Burrow with her trunk packed and was greeted with a suffocating hug.

"Hermione!" Ginny said cheerily, laughing as a bit of ash and Floo powder tracked on her shirt. "Where have you _been_? I told you to come right when summer started!"

She grabbed her trunk and began hauling it through the living room.

"I've been a bit busy," she answered vaguely, waving a hand. "You know my parents only see me twice a year, so they want to go places when I come home from break."

"But it's almost August!" the redhead pouted, opening the door to their room.

"I know, I know," Hermione nodded, tossing her trunk by the empty bed. "I've well… I've actually been going to the Ministry a lot for the past month."

"The Ministry?" Ginny narrowed her eyes. "Whatever for?"

"Hermione!"

The door flew open again to reveal Ron and Harry, the former holding a large chunk of bread in his hand. Harry seemed to look significantly brighter since she had last seen him.

"You know, Ron, knocking doesn't take too long nor is it hard," Hermione commented, feeling a smile take her lips.

"But this is my house!" he answered, looking rather astonished that she had suggested such a thing.

"My room, brother, incase you forgot." Ginny jeered at him, crossing her arms.

Hermione laughed lightly, walking across to give a tight hug to both boys. There was always a feeling of emptiness when she hadn't seen either of them for a while.

"And how have you been, Harry?" she titled her head, trying to study for any signs of self-neglect.

"All right," he answered, raising and lowering his shoulders. "Hardly had to spend a whole week with the Dursley's."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to see under his charade. When Harry had visited her at St. Mungo's, he had been visibly overridden with guilt and refused to accept her consolation about her injuries. A momentary look of regret flashed behind his green eyes before it was covered by his smile again.

"Anyway, Hermione," Ginny continued. "What were you doing at the Ministry?"

"Ministry?" both Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows.

Inwardly sighing, she walked back to her trunk. "Not much. You know… just this and that."

"Come off it," Ron said interestedly. "Tell us what you were doing there."

"Oh, all right," she breathed, sitting at the empty bed. "I've been taking Apparition lessons there twice a week. I—erm—wanted to get my license early you know?"

"Early?" Ron lowered his jaw. "Just how early are you planning? You can't actually test for it until you turn seventeen, right?"

Ginny rolled her eyes this time. "Her birthday's in September you dunderhead, she'd be getting her license in a month."

"Oh right," he shrugged, looking mildly embarrassed. "I always forget you're a year older than us…"

"It's not a big issue, really," Hermione waved a hand, glancing between the three of them. "So what's been going on here? Where is everyone?"

"Well as you know," Ginny began, sitting down on her bed. "Bill brought… _her_ over here to stay with us—I don't even know where she is right now, not that I care or anything, she just treats me like I'm _five_—anyway, Fred and George have been staying at their shop in Diagon Alley, Percy is still being a prat and not coming home, and—"

"Ginny!"

The door abruptly opened for the second time, followed by Mrs. Weasley's head. "Come down and help me with lunch will you—Oh, Hermione, dear! You're here!"

The Weasley matriarch cut through the room to give her a warm hug, rubbing her back in a very motherly way.

"It's good to see you in one piece," she continued, patting her shoulders. "You would not believe my heart when I heard you had to be sent to St. Mungo's for critical care—oh, dear, you feel a bit thin—no worries, lunch will be up soon."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door, but not before grabbing Ginny and dragging her out as well.

"Mum!" she yelled in clear refusal. "I'm talking to this lot!"

"No, now! You can all talk later."

The door closed with a click, but Ginny's complaints continued until they faded with distance. As soon as silence settled in the air again, a quiet sigh escaped Harry's lips.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron raised an eyebrow.

Harry's mouth settled into a tight line. "Actually, there's something I have to tell the two of you. I… I wasn't being completely honest about everything Dumbledore told me that night we went to the Ministry…"

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hermione left the bed, approaching him with a worried expression.

"The prophecy," he mumbled. "I know it all—about me and Voldemort. I just—let me explain…"

.

When another Apparition lesson with Professor Twycross had gone by, Hermione flooed straight into Diagon Alley instead of the Burrow, eager to find some answers. After much thought and deliberation regarding her findings in the magical trunk, she decided there were two places she needed to visit; the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and Ollivander's wand shop.

The sun was low in the sky and the wide streets had mostly cleared out of its usual crowd. To her dismay, she noticed the way people traveled in tight groups, never stopping too long at a single place, keeping to themselves. She supposed it had been this way since the news of Voldemort's return.

Shaking away the sense of trepidation, Hermione walked down the South side of Diagon Alley, having flooed in closer to the wand shop than the bank.

She palmed her own wand in her pocket, swallowing down her sudden nervousness and pushed open the old wooden door.

A bell rang through the shop as the door closed behind her and Hermione took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of wood. The sound of a ladder sliding across the shelves caught her attention, an elderly wizard peeked his head through the back corridor.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Granger," he greeted, slowly stepping down from the tall ladder. "I remember now… Ten and three-quarter inches, Dragon Heartstring core, with a bit of vine wood, correct?"

She nodded, surprised and impressed. "Yes, sir."

"I see you've come alone," he noted. "Have you lost or broken your first wand?"

Taking a deep breath, she shook her head. "No, sir. I… actually came here because I wanted to ask you some questions."

He raised a bushy white brow.

"When I first stepped into your store six years ago, you said something very interesting to me, sir," she explained slowly, watching his expression. "You said that the _wand chooses the wizard._"

"Indeed," Ollivander nodded once, "and you wish to know why that is?"

She paused, shifting her weight between her feet. "I'm developing a theory, sir, one about magical inheritance within the family. I've done a fair bit of research regarding the basic process of wandlore, because I believe it ties in with what I want to discover."

He looked mildly interested. "And that is?"

"That magic isn't just a supernatural force that's perfectly spread amongst every witch and wizard," she said, starting to pace now in thought. "Just like when you create wands out of certain types of wood and cores, each one results in a different… I suppose the best word here would be _personality. _Magic is filled with all kinds of characteristics and temperaments, if you will."

"However," she continued, raising a finger, "there are consistencies within the materials you use. You told me that as a general rule, Dragon heartstrings produce the most power, capable of learning quickly and having a strong sense of loyalty to its owner. This sort of regularity could also be seen in family members—that's why some of my friends like Ron and Neville, could use secondhand wands from family without too much of a problem—their magic aligns well enough for the personality of the wand. That says something about the magic inside us, doesn't it? That it responds, that it's _alive._"

Ollivander was now sitting behind his counter, his attention completely focused on her. "So you're saying the magic inside of us is similar in nature to our parents and perhaps any siblings?"

She nodded. "I'd like to call it a magical core of some sorts that's genetically created during the nine months of development. Characteristics of magic from both parents are used for the makeup of the child, like they are locked to the physical body at birth. This may be why we feel tired or out of breath after over exhausting our magic."

"But Miss Granger, I believe you are missing two crucial points within this theory," he tapped a finger against his cheek. "Because according to your thinking, there should be no such things as Squibs or Muggle-borns, but yet there are."

She released a tight sigh. "I think that the chance of being passed down a magical core is different from the ability to utilize it."

His eyes grew wide at her implication. "Are you saying, my dear, that those who show no sign of being magical, could still be housing a magical core of their own?"

"One they can't use themselves, and only pass on," she corrected. "Because ultimately, the magic chooses the person, just like the wand chooses the wizard."

Ollivander paused, eyes glazing as if thinking of something long ago.

"Compatibility," he said at last, "between the magic, the wizard and the wand… I see why you've come to me."

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, stringing her fingers together. "I understand that your wandlore is a carefully guarded practice, but is there anything you could tell me to either help or break the theory?"

Ollivander hummed, placing a stray strand of white hair out of his line of sight. He appeared contemplative for a moment, eyeing her with a critical gaze as if determining her worthiness. After a moment, he raised a hand, beckoning her forward.

Heart racing, Hermione took three steps out, leaning against the counter to face the elder wizard.

"Magic and its origins have always been a mystery," he said quietly, eyes rather wide, "but if there is one thing I'd like to share with you, Miss Granger, it is how I've come to see that wizards are quite short sighted in regards to other branches of magic that does not seem to come from their own."

She blinked. "Other… branches of magic?"

"Curious isn't it, how magical beings and beasts other than humans seem to have their own brand of magic that isn't affected by our own spells?" he questioned. "Take into account the Elves that can move freely in and out of Hogwarts, completely ignoring the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, or the Goblins who can easily best wizards without the aid of a wand… Do you know why that is?"

"No, sir…" she admitted, shaking her head.

For the first time in their conversation, he gave a curious smile. "Perhaps your answer lies with them. However, I do warn you now, Goblins are not the friendliest of beings. Highly clever and intelligent, yes, but their knowledge always comes with a price."

She gave a grim nod. "I was actually going to visit Gringotts as well… I believe I have something of theirs that I could possibly bargain for.

"Oh?" he raised his eyebrows. "Well then, I can only wish you luck from here, Miss Granger. I do expect—"

A sudden shiver ran down her back as the doorbell rattled against the frame, and Hermione felt the cold breeze rush in. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She turned on her heel, finding a very tall and imposing man standing at the doorway, grinning like Christmas had come early. Two figures flanked each side, cloaked in a long black robe and a white skull mask.

Death Eaters.

For a moment, her heart seemed to stop.

She glanced back at the large man again, taking in his rough features and thick facial hair, finding recognition somewhere in the back of her mind. From the way Ollivander's face twisted in fear, he too, recognized the man.

Fenrir Greyback.

"What's this?" his gruff voice cut the shocked silence, eyes boring into her. "A customer after hours?"

Hermione instinctively took a step back, feeling the countertop dig into her back.

"What do you want?" Ollivander asked, clearly having found his voice. He sounded much more confident than he looked. "If you're here to cause mayhem, the Aurors will be on their way for your arrest."

He grinned, sharp canines gleaming. "Why, Mr. Ollivander, we only want to ask for your company. Think of it as a nice vacation."

Hermione felt her hands tremble at the implication. They were trying to kidnap Ollivander.

She glanced at the three of them by the door, taking into account what she could observe and frantically attempting to formulate an escape plan.

Greyback was by far the biggest threat. Even without the full moon, she knew he could easily overpower them in terms of physical strength. The two Death Eaters behind him were a complete unknown. One was equal to the werewolf in terms of height, the other was about a half-head shorter. Hermione could see nothing under the black hood or mask; it was impossible to tell if they were even male or female.

Swallowing back her fear, she gripped her wand, taking a conscious step in front of the old wand maker. Regardless of what she saw, she refused to sit back and let Ollivander be kidnapped.

"He's not going anywhere with you," she said boldly, lifting her wand.

Greyback didn't seem deterred. In fact, he looked amused. "And who are you girly? Thinking of protecting the old man?"

"And if I am?"

He snorted loudly, rolling back his arms in a stretch. "It's a shame, but the wandmaker's coming with us."

She exhaled, trying to loosen her muscles. "I'm not moving."

"Oh?" Greyback raised a thick brow. "And you, Ollivander? You're going to cower back there all day?"

Hesitant shuffling sounded behind her. "I—"

"No! Mr. Ollivander, stay right there," she pleaded; glancing back to make sure he hadn't moved.

It was a crucial mistake.

Faster than she could respond, an incredible force slammed into her, thick fingers wrapped around her neck. She felt her back ram into the wall by the counter, causing countless of boxed wands to fall from the shelves. Stars danced in her vision as Greyback's hand tightened around her neck, cutting off her air. She could feel his abnormally sharp nails pressing threateningly against her skin, his faces inches from hers.

"You're quite the pretty little thing," he said conversationally, as if he wasn't holding her by the neck. "A little temperamental for my tastes, but still young… I'm sure a bite or two wouldn't hurt—"

"Stop!" Ollivander yelled, raising his own wand now. "Let—Let her go. She has nothing to do with any of this."

Hermione tried to speak, but it felt like her jaw was about to break from the strain. She couldn't breathe. Her head was spinning and Greyback's face began to shift in and out of focus.

Greyback turned his head. "You don't get to make any requests, Ollivander. Grab him."

The two Death Eaters moved, but Ollivander wasn't done yet. "I'll go peacefully! Please! There—there is no need to fight. Just let her off and I'll go with you without a word."

_No._ She would not be a liability. She refused. Hermione struggled harder now, clawing and trying to pry off Greyback's fingers. Nothing seemed to work. She knew from all her research on Professor Lupin that werewolves were much more stronger and durable, a sense of helplessness washed over her.

"My shop is quite well known," Ollivander continued, his wand moving between the two Death Eaters. "Even at this time, people will hear and react to the noise. The Aurors will be here straight away. Are you going to throw away your task for one girl?"

The werewolf narrowed his eyes dangerously, grip tightening. Right when he seemed ready to snarl back a retort, a new voice cut in.

"Greyback," the shorter of the two Death Eaters called. His voice was muffled through the mask, yet undoubtedly male. "The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting."

He gave a wolfish snap in return, clearly irritated by the Death Eater's words. "Watch who you're barking to, _pup_."

Thick tension filled the air.

"If you want to inform the Dark Lord of our tardiness due to indulging in your personal desires, then by all means, continue," the Death Eater said calmly. "After all, you know him better than I."

After a silent moment, his fingers slowly pried off of Hermione's neck and she felt herself being thrown onto the floor, colliding painfully against the wood. Her whole body was shaking uncontrollably, her lungs burned with every breath she took. The room danced nauseously in front of her eyes and she was briefly reminded of her Occlumency lessons with Snape.

"Let's make this quick, Ollivander," the werewolf growled out, stepping towards him. "Close your shop."

Unable to refuse, the elderly wizard picked up all the fallen wands on the floor, quickly placing them into the correct box and returning them to the shelf. He cleared away the loose materials on his counter and flipped over the welcoming sign on his window to read 'closed'.

From the edge of her vision, Hermione saw a dark boot step inches away from her face and before she could stop him, Greyback's hand caught her jaw, forcing her to look up. His thumb and forefinger pressed against her cheeks, he grinned.

"You've lucked out, girly, play time's over for now," he said, then suddenly grew serious. "I don't have to say what'll happen to precious Mr. Ollivander here, if you go telling people about this, do I?

Her voice seemed lost. She couldn't speak.

"I'll find you again," he warned, eyes blazing. "I'll track down your scent. I'll enjoy playing the game. Then I'll tear that face of yours right up."

Without waiting for her to respond, Greyback unceremoniously released her jaw, letting her cheek to slam onto the floor.

"Let's go."

The telltale ring of a bell sounded through the shop as Ollivander was forced out the door, Greyback right on his heels. The Death Eaters followed after, cleanly exiting the store as if they were never there to disturb it. The shorter of the two seemed to pause briefly at the doorway, pale fingers twisting his wand as if contemplating a spell. After a second of hesitation, he too walked out the door, grabbing onto the other Death Eater's arm and with a loud crack, they all vanished.

.

Cleaning up after herself and creating a plausible story for the conjured wrappings around her neck was much easier than Hermione expected.

Laughing sheepishly, she waved off Ginny's concerns, rubbing the back of her head. "Sorry I'm a bit late. I, well, had a little accident while Apparating today."

"Accident?" the redhead repeated, aghast. "What did you do, splinch yourself?"

"Just a bit," she said, smiling reassuringly. "But Professor Twycross was very quick to patch it up. Didn't hurt at all."

Ginny pointed to her cheek, raising an eyebrow. "And why's your cheek all bruised up?"

Hermione sighed. "I sort of landed on my face, okay? Clearly not my best moment. Your mum wouldn't happen to have any bruise salve in the house, would she?"

She laughed lightly, the worry now gone. "Of course she does. With brothers like Fred and George in the house, it's a bit of a guarantee. Wait here, I'll go grab it for you."

And the questions ended after that.

The remainder of summer would have been considered pleasant in Hermione's opinion, if it weren't for the constant feed of Death Eater movements that seemed to grow increasingly each week. Harry's birthday celebration had been interrupted by Lupin bringing the news of Igor Karkaroff's body being found in some deserted shack up north. Her mind immediately went to Viktor and worry for his school when she remembered his last letter, stating that his Quidditch team were touring somewhere near Italy.

"Did you hear about Florean Fortescue, Remus?" Bill asked, passing the juice. "The man who ran—"

"The ice-cream place in Diagon Alley?" Harry answered, frowning. "He used to give me free ice creams. What's happened to him?"

"Dragged off, by the look of his place."

"Why?" Ron asked, swallowing back his eggs.

Lupin sighed, running a hand through his grey streaked hair. "Who knows? He must've upset them somehow. He was a good man, Florean."

"Talking of Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley inputted, "looks like Ollivander's gone too."

Hermione dropped her spoon.

"The wandmaker?" said Ginny, wide-eyed.

"That's the one. Shop's empty. No sign of struggle. No one knows whether he left voluntarily or was kidnapped."

She swore something inside her screamed as she bent under the table to pick up the silverware. Grabbing the spoon, Hermione swallowed back the overwhelming guilt, hoping that her face gave nothing away. If she had been stronger…

"But wands—what'll people do for wands?"

"They'll make do with other makers," Lupin replied, handing her another clean spoon from Mrs. Weasley. She accepted with a nod of thanks. "But Ollivander was the best and if the other side have got him it's not so good for us."

Hermione's mood grew worse when their letters and booklists arrived from Hogwarts the next day, enacting a family trip to Diagon Alley for Saturday.

Except that _she_ would be expected at the Ministry for another Apparition lesson that day.

Half of her wouldn't dare to miss a lesson, especially since the request was from Dumbledore, but the other half, which she was ashamed to admit, was afraid of returning to Diagon Alley again.

When she realized such a ridiculous thought had passed through her head, she smacked her own forehead, causing Ginny to give her a strange look. Hermione released a deep exhale. She was better than this. It was one mistake—one she swore she wouldn't make again—and she was going to fix it. She would find Ollivander even if it took the rest of her life.

Mind set, Hermione brought up the issue during dinner on Thursday night.

"I know Mr. Weasley can't get off work any quicker, so if I could just head to Diagon Alley about an hour earlier alone, I would be able to make it to my lesson," she explained.

Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had just suggested cutting her own arm off. "Most certainly not! You would just have to owl your Professor that you'd be busy that day."

Ron snorted. "Hermione? Miss a lesson? Mum, that's a good one. Besides, d'you honestly think You-Know-Who's going to be hiding behind a bookshelf in Flourish and Blotts?"

"Fortescue and Ollivander went on holiday, did they?" Mrs. Weasley harped, eyes narrowing. "If you think security's a laughing matter, you can stay home and I'll get your things myself—"

"No, no, I wanna come!" Ron backtracked quickly. "I want to see Fred and George's shop."

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione interrupted smoothly before the mother hen could continue. "I'm very aware of the danger but I promise to take care of myself. Since Hagrid's going to be there, I could check in and out with him as I come and go. I just… I'd feel terrible for Professor Twycross when he took the time to teach me this summer."

The elder witch opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by yet another one of her sons.

"Mum, just let her off," Bill encouraged, waving a hand. "You have no idea how much security has tightened over the past week since the disappearances. Especially in Gringotts, it's taking about five hours for the public to get their gold at the moment. Hermione will be fine."

"It'll be in bright day, Mrs. Weasley," she persisted, seeing her chance. "There'll be tons of other students doing their shopping as well. I assure you it'll be all right."

There was a tense silence as Mrs. Weasley glared at Bill for supporting this, then at Hermione for causing possible doom. At last, she relented.

"Fine, but only this once," she raised a finger, emphasizing the fact. "Clock in with Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron and make sure to do your best at the Ministry. Can't have you splinching your poor self again."

She winched slightly, rubbing her bandaged neck. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley. I'll do my best."

Contrary to what she insisted, Saturday was overcast and murky by the time Hermione flooed to the Leaky Cauldron. She checked in with Hagrid as promised, smiling at the old gamekeeper as she walked in.

"Hermione!" he raised his hand. "Good ter see yeh! Arthur told me yeh were comin' early."

"It's good to see you too Hagrid!" she greeted, hugging him as best as she could. "Unfortunately, my schedule's a bit packed at the moment and I'm expected for a lesson soon. You're waiting for Harry, right?"

He nodded. "The Ministry wanted ter send a bunch o' Aurors, but Dumbledore said I'd do."

"That you will," she laughed. "Anyway, I'll come see you once I leave. It should only be about an hour."

After waving farewell, Hermione stepped through the back entrance, tapping on the correct set of bricks, just like she had seen Professor McGonagall do so many years ago. As the magical entrance opened up to Diagon Alley, Hermione paused, taking in the scene.

Bill was right. They had really tightened up the security last week. Every store was covered in purple Ministry of Magic posters, carrying everything from wanted signs to security and self-defense advice. A number of shop windows were boarded up and a few shady looking stalls had opened up on the streets.

Grimacing at the sight, Hermione went straight away to Flourish and Blotts, sliding out her booklists for the year. Much like the years before, many of them were books she had already checked out once in the Hogwarts library, or bought earlier for the sake of getting ahead. She ignored the dodgy-looking wizard trying to sell her some fake amulet and headed inside the bookstore.

Just like she had remembered, Flourish and Blotts was the same on the inside, filled with the smell of parchment and ink and piles and piles of books lying around. She walked quickly through the aisles, already having memorized the layout of the store in her first year and selected out the books she needed. After grabbing three thick tomes for some extra reading, Hermione checked out at the counter and left the store somewhat in a better mood than she had come in.

Books always seemed to have that effect on her.

She made a quick stop at the Apothecary, picking up some ingredients she knew were a must. There was a sad moment of silence as Hermione stared at a jar of horned slugs, realizing that neither Harry nor Ron would be in her N.E.W.T.s Potion's class with her. Professor Snape only accepted 'O's in his class.

When the moment of self-pity passed, she picked up some treats at Eeylops Owl Emporium for Faris and headed to Madam Malkin's, eager to get a new set of robes.

The door opened with a quiet _ding_ and she stepped into the cozy store, noting the older witch near the back of the room.

"Welcome," Madam Malkin turned and smiled warmly, "Hogwarts, dear?"

"Yes please," she nodded, taking a good look around the racks. "And some leisure robes as well."

"Come this way—leave your current robe on that chair," she asked, stepping around a large rack and pointing to a raised platform in front of a large mirror. "Now let's see you…"

Hermione shrugged off her old robe, dropping it in the designated area. She stepped onto the dais and raised her arms, allowing the older witch to pull a measuring tape across each section of her body and jot them down on a slip of parchment. After a few more measurements were taken, Madam Malkin summoned a black and red robe, tossing it around her shoulders.

"Oh dear, what happened to your neck?" she pursed her lips, carefully adjusting the fabric around her collarbones as to not jostle the injury.

"Apparition. I was being clumsy and got into an accident," she explained, smiling crookedly.

Madam Malkin nodded. "Oh, poor you… and your cheek too? I can see there was quite a nasty bruise there. It's still a bit discolored."

She nodded, unable to move her body as Madam Malkin was pushing sharp pins into the areas that needed adjustment.

"Have you come alone dear?" she asked with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Oh no, I have friends who are waiting outside," she lied smoothly, not wanting a look of pity or a lecture from the older witch.

"That's good, walking alone in these troubled times is never a good idea… There we go, I'm almost done."

Just then, another small _ding _ran through the store, indicating another customer. Hermione frowned, thinking that Harry had arrived a lot earlier she had thought he would. Glancing at the mirror in front of her, she saw a flash of white blonde hair in the reflection.

She turned around so quickly; Madam Malkin released a yelp of surprise. Her breathing seemed to stop as she locked eyes with him.

"Draco."

True to her eyes, he stood in the middle of the long store, his face caught in a momentarily look of disbelief. His gaze traveled from her eyes to her cheek, then to her bandaged neck.

The door opened once again and a tall woman stepped into the store. Hermione immediately recognized her from their brief meeting over Christmas Break.

"Draco, I told you to stay close," Mrs. Malfoy chided quietly, unaware of her son's expression. "I don't want—"

"Mother, we're leaving," Draco cut her off hurriedly, turning on his heel and pushing Narcissa Malfoy towards the door again.

She refused to let him leave like this. "Draco, wait!"

Ignoring Madam Malkin's voice of protest, Hermione jumped from the platform wincing as multiple pins stabbed against her skin from the sudden movement.

"Wait! Can we please just ta—" Hermione's voice screeched to a halt, she doubled over slightly, clutching her burning neck.

She still couldn't properly raise her voice.

Releasing ragged breaths, she swallowed; feeling as if she had just drank another bottle of doxy poison. To her surprise, Draco had stopped, staring at her with an inscrutable expression.

"Listen," she forced out hoarsely, reaching for his forearm.

As if just realizing she was there, Draco immediately yanked his arm away, pulling his hand towards his chest.

"Do—not—touch—me!" he hissed, eyes wide with anger. But she could have sworn there was a flash regret behind it all. And surprisingly, fear.

Hermione retracted her hand as if she'd been stung, feeling her mouth open slightly at his blatant rejection. It felt as if someone had dropped a bludger over her chest. She hadn't seen him since her flight to the Department of Mysteries and she was dying to hear an explanation of what had happened. Anything.

"Why?" she choked out quietly, feeling her eyebrows knit together in confusion.

The blonde turned away, walking through the racks of robes towards the door.

"Hang on just a minute," Mrs. Malfoy narrowed her blue eyes, looking between the two of them. She finally turned to Hermione. "You… You look familiar. Aren't you the witch I met just last December?"

"That isn't her," Draco answered instead, having found his voice. He tried to push her towards the door again but the older woman was having none of it.

"Stop that, you know I don't forget people I meet easily," she gently laid a hand of his shoulder, halting his escape. Her gaze settled on Hermione again. "It looks like you remember our encounter as well… and you know my son. I don't think I caught your name last time—who are you?"

"I'm—"

Draco broke away from Mrs. Malfoy's grasp and stepped in between both witches like a wall. "She's nobody. It's not important. Now let's _leave_, mother."

Hermione felt her chest cave painfully at his words. She stared at the back of his head, unable to make out his expression. She didn't understand why he had quite literally done a full turn around in a matter of months. Just what had happened with him?

"But—"

Not waiting for another word, Draco took his mother and pulled her away, swinging the door open and causing the bell to ring noisily. Surprise and displeasure flashed across Mrs. Malfoy's face as she was towed out, her blue eyes staring at Hermione's still form with a gleam of curiosity.

The door swung closed again. Hermione stood in the aftermath of the encounter, wondering out loud how things could have gotten so backwards.

No answer came for her.

* * *

A/N: Don't kill me guys, I promise they'll have a proper reunion and talk soon... or so my plan goes. Summer is officially done and over with so we are now moving onto Hogwarts, and all the fun that comes with sixth year (I'm still tinkering with the details but most of the plot has been set).

Anyway, we didn't get a lot of Fenrir Greyback dialogue even in the books, so I kind of just wrote him as I went. I hope he seems believable. Speaking of him, there's an interesting theory that I found through tumblr about Draco being a werewolf instead of a Death Eater. Not sure how long it's been around, but I was reading through someone's argument for it and they made it sound quite possible. This is all of course, through book canon and not film canon. Have any of you guys seen it?

El


	26. The Headmaster's Counsel

Disclaimer: Really sorry I missed last month's update. I was totally swamped with work and had no sense of mind to sit down and type this out. I honestly don't understand how some writers can pump out a chapter this length every week. Respect you guys, truly. As usual, I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 26: The Headmaster's Counsel

.

The morning of September first was dreary and overcast; matching Hermione's mood as she absentmindedly ran through the magical gate to Platform 9 ¾.

Kings Cross was bustling with noise and people, yet the moment Harry burst onto the platform with two Aurors flanking his side, every witch and wizard turned their head to see the 'Chosen One'. It irked Hermione that she could do nothing for her friend as he was scrutinized like a lab experiment, judging the boy before they could even meet him.

After hugging Mrs. Weasley goodbye, she followed behind the two boys onto the train and turned to the direction of the Prefect compartment.

"Hermione, wait."

Feeling a hand grab her wrist, she spun around to see Harry reaching out to her, a strange expression on his face. Ron was standing next to him, looking equally odd.

"What's wrong?" she asked, immediately fearing for the worst.

"Can we talk to you for a minute?" he inquired quietly, releasing her wrist.

She frowned, not having expected that. "But the Prefect meeting—"

"It won't be long," Ron said. "Besides, we already know what the Head Boy is going to say. We can pick up our schedules later."

Slightly startled by the serious tone in Ron's voice, she nodded. Something was definitely going on.

Harry and Ron led her down the hallway and stepped into an empty carriage, ignoring the stares that seemed to double since they walked onto the train. Ron slid the compartment door shut, sliding next to Harry on the seat.

"Okay," Hermione crossed her arms. "What's going on? What have you two been keeping from me?"

They both looked at each other before Harry cleared his throat and decided to speak.

"Well—er—you see, remember when we went to Diagon Alley the other day for our things?"

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to get to the point.

"We didn't want to worry you for nothing so we hadn't told you… but I think you should know. While we were there, Ron and I ran into Malfoy when we were headed to Flourish and Blotts."

It took every ounce of her self-control not to show a reaction when Draco's name slipped through Harry's mouth. Hermione bit down on her tongue to stop the onslaught of questions that threatened to consume her.

"Why would that be worrying to me?" she asked carefully.

The two wizards looked at each other again before proceeding.

"Because Malfoy asked why you weren't with us," Ron supplied this time. "We told him to bugger off and that your schedule wasn't any of his business, but when we said that you had gone ahead of us, he seemed—suspiciously weird—like he wanted confirmation that you were in Diagon Alley alone."

"…And?" she lowered her voice to a bare whisper.

"We think…" Harry glanced towards Ron in hesitation. "We think that Malfoy's out to get you."

She felt utterly confused now. "What do you mean?"

"I think he took on the Dark Mark this summer," Harry muttered. "He must have replaced his father as a Death Eater."

Hermione's heart lodged in her throat at his unexpected words and she grabbed a fistful of her robes.

"Are you serious?" her voice ran an octave higher as a wave of realization hit her. But it couldn't be. She refused to believe it. "What would Voldemort want with him? That just seemed so unlikely!"

"Hermione, listen," he continued. "Ron and I followed him later that day to Knockturn Alley. He went inside Borgin and Burkes and was talking to the man about something that needed to be repaired. But here's the thing, it seemed like Borgin didn't want to do whatever Malfoy was asking for, until Malfoy showed something that made Borgin fear. It _must _have been the Dark Mark! Then he threatened to have Fenrir Greyback come and 'check in with him' from time to time—you know, the werewolf that bit Professor Lupin?"

"Harry, I really don't think—"

"Just listen," he interrupted impatiently raising a hand. "It'll all make sense. I've talked to Ron about this in the last couple days and we think Voldemort tasked him with the job of attacking muggle-borns in Hogwarts. I mean, think about this, when Ginny was being possessed by Riddle's journal, the basilisk was released to try and kill all the muggle-born students. Now that it's dead, Voldemort has no way of continuing that plan unless he had someone in Hogwarts to do it. That's Malfoy. I think he was planning on attacking you in Diagon Alley or something, which is why he asked where you were. He really did have a suspicious reaction when we said you had gone earlier in the day."

Hermione let all the information sink in her mind, taking slow and steady breaths as a thick silence settled in the air. A part of her didn't want to believe Harry's words at all. There was just no way Draco would have taken the Dark Mark. It was absurd.

Memories of their brief encounter in Madam Malkin's flooded her mind. Draco had reacted so harshly when she had reached out to him, and she couldn't remember with absolute confidence which arm she had tried to grab.

"I know it seems crazy," Ron piped up, "believe me, I still have a hard time accepting the idea of Malfoy being a Death Eater—"

"I really don't think he is," Hermione supplied weakly, unable to meet their eyes.

"Hermione—"

"It just doesn't make sense!" she said in frustration. She hadn't missed the look Harry and Ron gave each other.

"We just want you to be careful," Harry said softly. "We didn't mean to scare you—"

"I'm not scared," she shook her head and threw herself on her feet. "I don't—I just think… this isn't…"

She couldn't say it.

Dumbledore had never given her the okay signal to inform either of her best friends about her work with Draco. Until now, she had never considered how hard it would be to keep it a secret from them.

Her chest ached.

"Hermione, it'll be okay," Harry reassured, getting to his feet as well. "We're not going to let him hurt you.

She lifted her gaze to meet his, trying to convey everything she wanted to say with her eyes. They were wrong about Draco, she knew that, but trying to convince herself of that fact when everything started sliding into place wasn't easy. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"It's not me that I'm worried about," she whispered, voice cracking.

Harry and Ron didn't seem to hear; too preoccupied with determining whom Draco would attack other than her.

She swallowed painfully, trying to form the words in her mouth; to tell them that Draco wasn't going to hurt her, to tell them that he wasn't her enemy. Anything. "I… better get to the meeting," she said lamely. "Thanks for warning me."

Ron shot to his feet. "Good thing I'm a Prefect too, then. We'll be back soon, mate."

Not trusting her own mouth, Hermione gave a quick nod to Harry and left the compartment with her mind in disarray.

Her flimsy convincing began to crumble even further as she noticed Draco's absence from the Prefect compartment, only to find him sitting with other Slytherins on their way back. She had tried to catch his eye as she walked by, but he had been resolutely looking out the window.

She hardly had the mind to consider when Harry and Neville were invited to Professor Slughorn's compartment for lunch. She had skipped eating for thinking.

When the train came to a stop and Harry hadn't come back, she and Ron grabbed his trunk as well and hauled it out the train. Harry had apparently told Neville that he'd be right back from Slughorn's lunch, but there was a small inkling of anxiety that settled in her stomach. Something could have gone wrong.

As Ron headed out to help guide the first years, Hermione lifted their trunks onto an empty carriage, when something she had never seen before caught her eye.

Two large skeletal horses were situated in front of the carriage, softy rearing their heads as they waited for their passengers. The Thestrals were much more grim in appearance than she had thought, dark yet strangely beautiful in a haunting way. She stared at them silently, feeling her eyebrows knit together as she strained to suppress her memories of their flight to the Ministry.

That was when it all started.

She really needed to talk to him.

"Do they remind you of someone, Hermione?"

She whipped her head around so quickly; she nearly dropped the trunk she was levitating. Luna Lovegood was standing right behind her—too close if she had to admit—smiling airily.

"I'm sorry, what?" She lowered the trunk in the carriage and stowed her wand away.

Luna rocked back and forth on her heels, and titled her head. "You were looking at the Thestrals very longingly. Do they remind you of someone?"

Shocked out of her comfort zone, Hermione shook Draco's face from her mind and clamped down on her Occlumency shields. For some odd reason, it felt as if Luna was looking right through her—something only Professor Snape was capable of pulling off—but in a much, calmer and softer way.

"I guess I was just surprised to see them," she responded unconvincingly. "I hadn't realized what witnessing Sirius's death would really do."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about Sirius," Luna said evenly. "I didn't think you'd make such a face for Harry's godfather."

"What?" Hermione said again, frowning now. "What do you mean such a face—"

"Hermione!" Ron ran towards them, waving his hand through the dark. He stopped a few feet away with Neville behind him. "First years are all sent off—is Harry back?"

A mixture between annoyance and relief hit when her conversation with Luna had been cut off. She honestly didn't know how to feel about the dreamy Ravenclaw most of the time. She was everything Hermione wasn't in regards to their personality and way of thinking. Remembering to answer Ron's question, she shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen him," she said worriedly. "You think something happened?"

Ron caught his breath and waved a hand. "Nah, it's Harry. He'll probably be stuck under the train, knowing his luck every year."

She glowered at the redhead. "That's not funny, Ron, what if he's really in some trouble?"

"Again, I don't think so," he shrugged. "He probably got carried away with everyone here wanting to talk to him and get his autograph. He'll be fine."

Pursing her lips, she didn't press the matter any further, but still threw anxious glances towards the train.

Ginny soon joined their carriage group with Dean. Hermione had a hard time controlling her straying eyes from landing on the Thestrals. She gazed at them with a blank expression, still mildly shocked that she had witnessed death just a few months ago.

Seven carriages down, a blonde Slytherin was similarly looking at the Thestrals for the first time, an unreadable expression set on his face.

.

Hermione thought nothing could surprise her anymore.

When Harry had finally walked in late, blood on his face, she had not pressed for any details. She had not been overly surprised to see Dumbledore's black hand, or hear the news of Professor Snape receiving the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. And if Hermione had been honest, she was rather satisfied with his course change, knowing that every other DADA professor had been a complete waste of her year.

The single shock that she received came the following morning as her Head of House was going over their schedules for the year. McGonagall beamed at Hermione, proud that she had achieved so many 'O's and handed her the timetable within seconds of their conversation.

Hermione flipped the parchment open, expecting to see two timetables as usual, but only saw one.

His wasn't there.

There was no note or explanation from Dumbledore, or any kind of hidden writing as she tapped a revealing spell with her wand.

"Ah, and Miss Granger?" the older witch called as Hermione frustratingly glared at her timetable for answers.

"Yes, professor?"

McGonagall reached into her robes and pulled out a small folded piece of parchment. Giving it a curious glance, she handed it to Hermione.

"It's from Professor Dumbledore," she said, not giving any other explanation.

Hermione took it with a swift '_thank you'_ and proceeded out of the Great Hall. Her fingers were itching with impatience to open the letter. Just like Draco, she hadn't received a single reply letter with her request to see him over the summer and Hermione was quite honestly irritated. After reaching a deserted corridor next to the Ancient Runes classroom, she grabbed the corners and flipped the letter open.

_Miss Granger,_

_My office will be open to you Friday night after dinner if you wish to favor me with your presence and questions._

_I sincerely hope you enjoyed dessert._

Hermione stared at the parchment again, reading through the short message a dozen times. Reading the last line, she made a mental list of all the deserts she saw during the welcome feast, knowing that one of them was going to be the password to his office. Why the Headmaster didn't decide to blatantly write it down escaped her understanding.

Class was another matter.

Her first Defense class with Professor Snape was unusually silent as everyone in the room tried to cast the shield charm non-verbally. To her thrill, she had been the first to succeed against Neville's Jelly-Legs Jinx and had been awarded with a sudden and brutal assault to her Occlumency shields. She had fought the familiar presence off while Neville turned red across from her, trying to non-verbally cast the charm and after what could have been an hour of defending, Snape retreated his mind. There was a flicker behind his cold gaze, but Hermione remembered how to read the indrawn man.

He was satisfied. With what—Hermione would never know. She had ultimately concluded that he was checking to see if her skills had not rusted over the summer.

Draco was a whole set of problems in himself. He refused to acknowledge her existence as she passed by him in the corridor or shared a class. He wasn't even taunting her anymore. Whatever had happened over the summer, he seemed resolute not to involve her in any of it and with the lack of his schedule, Hermione didn't know how or when she could catch a conversation with him.

Frustration and mortification filled her thoughts as she walked into the Potion's class on Wednesday, stubbornly refusing to give another glance as she saw a familiar head of blonde walk in.

There were only a dozen people progressing to the N.E.W.T. level potion's class. Hermione was inwardly pleased that Harry and Ron were with her once more. The three shared a table with Ernie Macmillion, the only Hufflepuff to have gotten in and sat by the gold-colored cauldron.

The smell hit her before she could even sit down and Hermione froze, processing the different scents faster than she wanted to.

The crisp smell of rain… The old scent of the Hogwarts's library along with a fresh roll of parchment… And the unmistakable smell of dark amber and green apples.

Damn it all.

There was a quiet crash from behind her and she swiftly turned around to see what had happened. Theodore Nott was readjusting himself after what looked like a humiliating fall, with Draco standing directly in front of him, unmoving. His hand was hanging out, his long fingers wide, indicating how the thick Potions book at his feet that had undoubtedly slipped from his grip. His grey eyes shot up to meet hers for the first time that week, then hastily looked away.

"Why'd you stop all of a sudden?" Nott hissed at Draco. "You made me crash into you."

Draco quickly swiped his text off the ground and scowled. "Nothing. Shut up and scoot on over."

Hermione looked back to her table in time to see Ron smirk and mutter about 'stupid Slytherin gits'.

She drowned him out and closed her eyes, unable to believe how strong the potion's smell was—and how utterly distracting it was. A quiet groan escaped her throat as she buried her face in her hands and tried not to breathe.

The remainder of class ended without any more disturbances. Much to Hermione's disappointment and shock, Harry had ended up winning the bottle of Liquid Luck for brewing a perfect potion. She felt a sense of failure grip her chest, it was only after a few deep breaths did she remind herself of her identity once more; there was nothing to prove and if Harry had won over her, then so be it.

Even with all the convincing, Hermione could not get rid of the suspicion and stinginess that accompanied her thoughts when she saw the old battered Potions textbook. She had checked the text for any dark magic or possible threats and analyzed the writing inside.

"Harry, doesn't this look familiar?" she asked out loud, reading a short script the Half-Blood Prince had written. "The handwriting I mean."

"You're looking too into it," he said, eyes narrowing. "It's just a normal book, all right?"

She wasn't convinced. "I'm serious. I feel like I've seen it before. Maybe not exactly like this… but a little more neater and smaller… doesn't—"

The book was snatched out of her hand and stuffed back into Harry's bag with a scowl. "Let it go, Hermione. Or d'you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?"

"Fine," she sighed, eyeing him from her peripheral vision. She would look into this 'Prince' fellow during her free time and hopefully figure out why the writing was so familiar.

When Friday came around, Hermione set her course to the Headmaster's office after dinner, giving Harry and Ron the usual library excuse. As the large stone gargoyle came into view, she steeled her nerves and gripped the Time Turner under her robes. She was going to get answers today.

"Chocolate gateau," she spoke, thinking down the list of deserts she had seen that night. "Treacle tart, berry cheesecake, honey tapioca, toffee éclair—"

The griffin gargoyle finally jumped aside, bowing its head as it allowed her entrance. Hermione bit back a victorious smile and stepped inside.

She knocked on the door respectfully, taking her cue as it slid inside on its own. She walked in, noting Dumbledore at his desk.

"Professor," she greeted.

"Miss Granger," he nodded. There was a weary gleam in his aged eyes that indicated something off about the great wizard. "Please, sit."

Hermione took the large red chair like last time and lifted her gaze to match his. For a moment, nothing was said.

"I believe I owe you an apology Miss Granger," he finally said, pulling his hands on top of his desk. "It seems I have not made myself readily available to you as Hogwarts's Headmaster."

"It's nothing that needs an apology for, sir," she answered, glancing at Dumbledore's black hand that she had momentarily seen in the welcoming feast. Now that she saw it up close, it seemed much worse than she had originally thought. "It's simply been a very long time since I've been able to speak to you about many things."

The old wizard smiled softly. "Again, I apologize. Events have gone out of my hands as well—" she shot him a questioning look. "—But before that, I would need some enlightening on your current situation. How are your lessons with Professor Twycross attending?"

"I'll be seeing him again two weeks from now to test for my official license. He seems highly confident that I'll be able to pass on my first try," she replied, letting a ghost of a smile reach her lips as she thought fondly of her summer professor. Getting taught one on one was truly a different experience. "But sir, why have you asked me to take the initiative on getting my license now?"

"All precautions, my dear," Dumbledore replied vaguely. "As I said, things do not look the same anymore."

"What do you mean, professor?" she pressed.

"It will all be explained in due time," he simply said, waving his good hand. "Now, I realize it may seem to be quite a long time ago, but I would like to hear your thoughts on Cato Max's journal."

Clamping down her impatience, Hermione nodded, gathering her thoughts.

"It was certainly unexpected," she began. "Mendel is one of the many important people that brought about modern science in the muggle world. I learned about him before coming to Hogwarts. And to find out that a wizard—a pureblood one at that, studied with him—was a bit mind-boggling . . . It was incredible though. It's because of Cato's book that I was able to branch off into exploring the physics of magic—if I could even call it that. It's because of his work that I was able to get so far on my own."

Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with satisfaction, but she continued her discourse.

"But there's a large issue that I found throughout the year regarding his studies. You see, Cato was never able to _scientifically _prove how exactly the magical gene worked. He admitted near the end that his theories of inheritance may have been correct, but he was only able to acquire that information through generations and generations of hospital records, showing who was related to whom. He didn't have solid proof of how genetics worked magically, which I believe was his greatest downfall."

She tinkered with the hem of her sleeves before deciding to share her own discoveries. "Draco and I both agreed that Cato's work is incomplete, but I believe I've gotten somewhere with it. How is magic hereditary? How do Squibs and Muggle-borns come about? I've thought a lot about these sorts of questions, and I've come to understand that it's quite possibly not all-concrete science. Magic may be passed down from parent to child just like Mendel and Cato Max described, but ultimately, it is the magic that chooses the person due to compatibility—like wands. This may be the explanation for sharing wands within the family, having home enchantments being able to recognize friend from foe, blood bonds, life debts, unbreakable vows and such inexplicable spells… magic is very much alive isn't it?"

Hermione trailed off as Dumbledore shifted his hands on his desk, watching her with a mass of interest. She fought back a sheepish blush, realizing that she had gotten too serious into her answer. She was sure all the old Headmaster wanted was a short thought of the book.

"Please continue, Miss Granger," he said pleasantly. "Though I am curious… were you able to find your line of magical ancestors?"

A small twitch tugged at the corner of her lips, threatening to pull her into another topic of discussion. Quickly digging in her bag, Hermione brought out a small, leather bound journal, and a smooth cylindrical device, setting them on the desk.

"Over the summer, I found a trunk in my storeroom that had been in my mum's side of the family for years," she revealed, picking up the journal. "It was a magical one that opened at my touch, and I found this inside—a journal that belonged to a witch named Iris Dagworth."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose, and he leaned forward, looking highly interested in the two objects.

"According to her journal, Iris was born in 1782 in a Greek Island called Corfu, and was raised in a prestigious pureblood family that claimed to have been descendants from the gods themselves," she said, already having read the journal from cover to cover. "After her younger brother passed away from an unknown illness when she was young, Iris was sent to study at Durmstrang Institute. It isn't clear, but sometime after her graduation, she met and married a muggle, Ivar Granger, and had two children: Hector and Cassandra."

"Her remaining family was not happy about the last Dagworth name being tarnished, so her mother placed a dark curse on Iris that wouldn't allow her to remove her last name nor her children's, always reminding her of her abandoned duty. As it's written, the last thing her mother said to her was, 'may it haunt you wherever you go, that you have failed the Dagworth family'."

Hermione cleared her throat after all the talking, raising a quick hand to silently say there was more. "Iris and her family then fled all the way to England, where she enrolled her two kids in Hogwarts as Cassandra and Hector Dagworth-Granger. As you recognize, Hector did very well in potions and ended up creating the _Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers_. Eventually, Hector's son, Jason, became a curse-breaker and was able to rid of the Dagworth name at last, leaving behind Granger. The rest, as I've learned, is history."

The Headmaster took a moment to stare at the two items before meeting her gaze. "This is most remarkable, Miss Granger. I am thoroughly proud of all that you have accomplished since receiving Cato's journal. Am I to assume that this revelation has not been lost on your fellow friends?"

She hesitated. "Actually… I haven't told them. And to be honest, sir, I don't think I will anytime soon."

"Would you wise me on the reason why?"

Taking a short breath, Hermione slightly pursed her lips. "Because I don't want anyone to see me in a different light for such a trivial reason. If I'm to change their views of me, I want to do it with my own power, not because I have some noble ancestry. I think that my discoveries don't make me a better person in anyway, so neither should people assume so. I want them to understand that I stand in my own right."

Dumbledore nodded in approval, knitting his fingers together in front of him. His light blue eyes glittered behind his frames and Hermione had a difficult time hiding her own pride.

"Very well, Miss Granger," he nodded, gesturing to the other object on his desk. "And your second discovery?"

Nearly having forgotten, Hermione picked it up the smooth black device, careful not to release any magic.

"This was what gave me my first clue regarding the theory that I explained to you earlier, professor," she explained excitedly. "That each of us has a certain magical signature. That essence is more of less shared within the family. It proves that magic can't be forcibly stolen like purebloods ideals claim."

She let loose a slither of magic and just as she expected, a black blade burst from one end, causing Dumbledore's eyes to widen.

"I believe it's like the magical trunk I found. It responds to magic, but for some reason, only my own. I've had Harry and Ginny test it out, but it didn't respond to either of them."

She released the handle, setting it gently on the desk. The blade disappeared.

"May I?" Dumbledore reached out, looking at her.

She nodded.

With his healthy hand, he lifted it from the desk, turning it around slowly as he inspected the metal coating. He gave it a firm wave like a wand, but the instrument did not react.

"Goblins," he murmured. "This is undoubtedly a fruit of their work from long ago. I suspect as Harry has told you in your second year, the sword of Gryffindor is another enchanted weapon. It, however, does not respond to a certain signature, but the qualities of the seeker. For those who are true at heart and have valor, the sword will answer."

"I thought the same, sir," she said, feeling more confident about her visit to the bank. "I was planning on visiting Gringotts, but—erm—got slightly off track."

He nodded, taking it all in stride as if he heard magical theories everyday.

"Now with all that said, I would like to open this time for your questions, Miss Granger." Dumbledore lowered his head in a curious manner.

Hermione sighed in relief; she was finally going to get her answers.

"Yes, well," she laced her fingers together in a comforting habit. "I wanted to know if the Order's got any information regarding the Malfoys. Draco was—I mean, he and I had—er—what I'm trying to say, is that he's suddenly changed and I don't know how to help him anymore."

A knowing look settled in Dumbledore's eyes. "Unfortunately, the Order has not found any newfound knowledge pertaining the Malfoys. I'm afraid they are one of the many families in the midst of Voldemort's return."

Hermione paused. "Is it possible that Voldemort is directly involved in this? Would he even be interested in involving Draco?"

A hint of surprise flashed through his face before it was quickly masked. "I believe Voldemort is capable of influencing anything within his reach, especially those willingly close to him."

"But you don't think he'd… recruit Draco, do you, sir? I mean, he's still a student—barely sixteen—Voldemort would never even consider… please tell me he wouldn't, sir."

"I cannot give you a definitive answer," he said cautiously.

"Then, do you think he blames me that his father's in Azkaban?" she asked dejectedly. "Or he feels betrayed? I just don't understand, professor… how can I help him when he doesn't want anything to do with me?"

The old wizard let his eyes close for a brief moment, before he opened them again. "There may be a multitude of reasons, many that I could not possibly understand myself. But there are a few points that I need clarified from you, Miss Granger."

"…Yes?"

"Before Mr. Malfoy suddenly changed over the summer," Dumbledore turned serious, "I need to know his place of mind. So simply think of him before the change, and answer me this: has he overcome his childhood teachings of blood purity?"

She bit her lip. "I… believe so. I know he's definitely aware, but I can't say how strong his change in belief is."

"Fair enough," the Headmaster nodded slowly. "Tell me about his humanity. How far do you believe Mr. Malfoy would go to accomplish a goal?"

Again, she hesitated. "Draco is quite… ambitious. When he has a goal in mind, he'd work silently and efficiently to get it done. He doesn't like asking for help to get things sorted out and he would go to many… unexpected extremes if need be."

"Would he ever harm anybody for his goal?"

"I don't think so," she shook her head, feeling more hopeless with every question. "At least, not willingly. It'd be different if these people were a threat to him, but I don't believe he'd hurt people without reason."

Dumbledore pressed his lips into a firm line. "My final question, Miss Granger… do you think he has the capability to kill another?"

She took a sharp breath, feeling her chest tighten considerably.

"No," she breathed, trying to loosen her knotted shoulders. "Definitely no. He's not… I don't think he's got that sort of initiative to end someone's life, even in dire circumstances."

Dumbledore's chest seemed to lower in relief, his aged face seeming more assured by the smallest amount. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, noting his reactions for later thought. There was something he knew.

"Professor," she swallowed heavily, trying to ignore the growing doubt with the Headmaster. "You still haven't told me what I ought to do… how can I help Draco?"

"Miss Granger, it looks as if your helping hand has become unneeded now," he said, a hint of reluctance in his tone.

She frowned, clamping her hands into fists under the desk. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Mr. Malfoy has chosen his path," he said firmly. "And I believe his recent change over the summer is his expression of that choice. It is unfortunate, but there is nothing we can do for him as of now."

Her voice was shaking. "You—you can't truly mean that, sir… right?"

"It is as it seems."

She felt her eyes threaten to rim with tears. "Are you really asking me to—to give up?"

"Not to give up, my dear," he shook his head, "but to let go. You are not responsible for his choice, please remember—you've done your best—"

"And failed!" she cried, not caring that she had rudely interrupted him. "I failed! What was the whole point of me trying to help him if he didn't change in the end? I—I didn't do anything right! It wasn't supposed to happen like this—I—"

Hermione choked back a sob and ran her trembling fingers across her suddenly damp cheeks. Instead of feeling relieved of the burden, it felt like someone had dropped a stack of textbooks over her lungs. She couldn't breathe properly.

"You most certainly did not fail, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said strongly. "As I've said, Mr. Malfoy's decision does not reflect your effort. He has simply made his standing known. You are not to blame."

"How is this not my fault?" she said bitterly, feeling her throat burn. "I was supposed to help him."

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed and he regarded her with clear sympathy. He didn't speak, simply allowing her time to compose herself once more.

Taking in a few steadying breaths, Hermione clamped her eyes closed, feeling the last of her tears spill over her lids. She wiped them away hastily and exhaled softy. She had failed. Somewhere along the lines, she had deluded herself into thinking that everything would be all right. That somehow, somewhere, things would wrap up in a happily ever after.

But she was wrong.

And Draco had made his choice clear.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, knowing that she was apologizing to the wrong wizard. "I—I think I'd better go, professor."

She abruptly stood from her chair, feeling as if she had another grueling Occlumency lesson with Snape.

"Miss Granger," he called gently, stalling her steps. "Even when all seems lost, and you find yourself standing between two obstacles, remember that there is always a choice you have left to make. There is never a dead end as long as you will it to be."

She forced herself to nod, words ringing between her ears. "I will, sir."

He nodded once. "Good. Then I wish you good night."

"Good night, professor."

* * *

A/N: Poor Harry and Ron misunderstanding Draco in Diagon Alley. They'll figure it out though, eventually.

So a few of you asked why Hermione didn't tell the Order about Ollivander's kidnapping, and honestly, I didn't think it would have made a single difference. The scene where Lupin and Bill are talking about disappearances in Diagon Alley is pretty much taken straight from the book. Meaning, that even in canon, the Order already knew Ollivander was taken by Death Eaters, they just didn't know why. Hermione doesn't know why either. And funnily enough, the Order did absolutely nothing for Ollivander in canon, even though they knew he was taken - for christ's sake, the poor man was left there until book seven where Harry had to save him as a side attempt during the Malfoy skirmish. I mean, it's never said if the Order ever took jobs to try and rescue Ollivander, but as far as I know, they sort of just left him there. So if Hermione had told the Order members what had occurred, all she'd be telling them was something they already knew, while putting overprotective restrictions on Hermione's movements as precaution. Not something she needs at the moment.

Also, I've always thought it was silly how _no one_ recognized Snape's handwriting in his Potions book. I mean, come on, they spent the better part of the last five years looking at it on the Blackboard.

That's all for now; stay warm and toasty guys, I hope you all have a wonderful christmas/new years,

El


	27. Fated Farewells

Disclaimer: This chapter is sad. I won't lie. And a little angsty. As always, I don't own Harry Potter.

* * *

Chapter 26: Fated Farewells

.

Hermione wasn't one for sulking—she knew she was far better than that.

So when an entire week of silent brooding and self-pity passed, Hermione slapped herself back together. Literally.

She needed a plan.

Draco may have been ignoring her existence, but she wasn't going to let him get away without giving her an answer. She was going to hear his story even if it meant tracking him down and demanding for a response.

And that was exactly what she did.

"Vi, I need a favor."

The portrait perked up, blue eyes wide with interest. "Oh, ask away dear! Is it another boy? Let me get some alcohol—"

"Wait! Let me explain first," she raised a hand, stopping the witch from leaving her frame, undoubtedly to find the Fat Lady. "I need you, and every portrait willing, to track someone for me inside Hogwarts. I don't have a lot of time to wander the halls myself, so I need you guys on the look out."

Violet looked contemplative, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Hmm, sounds exciting. Who's the boy?"

"Draco Malfoy. He's a sixth year Slytherin. About a half-head taller, white blonde hair, sharp features—"

"Oh, yes, I've seen him around," she nodded. "He's usually with those two large oafs—not that I can tell _those_ two apart—what do you need with him?"

"His schedule," she said firmly. "I need to know where he goes during his free hours, including weekends; what he's doing at what time. Can you do it?"

A sudden gleam ran through Violet's eyes, making her seem much more alive than she was. "Don't underestimate us, Hermione, dear. How about we find out?"

After a month of getting contradicting answers and lazy guesses, Hermione finally sorted out what she concluded to be a shoddy representation of Draco's schedule. It seemed rather mundane and simple, but she had caught a pattern. He had been heading to the seventh floor every weekend since the beginning of the year, and into the corridor that held the Room of Requirement.

The morning Harry chose to hold his Gryffindor's Quidditch tryouts, Hermione decided to take that time on implementing her own agenda.

When the entire Gryffindor House moved down to the pitch, Hermione made some noncommittal comment about having special work to do and scurried off elsewhere. Biting down her nervousness, she powered up the stairs to the seventh floor and set her course towards the corridor holding the Room of Requirement. She couldn't fathom why Draco would continue going there, but according to her personal spy network of portraits, he would arrive near noon without fail.

Disillusioning herself around the corner, Hermione squatted at the end of the hallway taking calming breaths and waiting for a sign of someone walking her way. She knew she didn't have to wait long if the portraits were right.

As she waited, she contemplated the new knowledge of Voldemort's parents from Harry's one-on-one lesson with Dumbledore. Although she was disappointed her best friend wasn't learning any life-saving spells, she grudgingly agreed that learning about the enemy was important as well.

She added the Gaunt family on the list of pureblood families to research. Soon enough, light footsteps echoed from the stairwell after a half-hour of waiting, breaking her out of her thoughts. She held back her breath of surprise as she saw Draco round the corner with two small girls flanked at his side. The portraits were right about the girls too. They walked as if they were uncomfortable in their own bodies and Hermione couldn't understand why on earth they were with a sixth year. One was a small brunette that she remembered seeing at the sorting and the other was a blonde second year, also in Slytherin.

"—And I don't have to repeat my instructions do I?" Draco snarled quietly at both of them.

To her added surprise, neither girls looked intimidated one bit and simply nodded. "Yeah we get it, Draco," the brunette said lazily. "Stand guard, watch for any people, drop something if anyone passes by."

Draco nodded curtly. "Fine."

He walked back and forth in the corridor, waiting for the door to appear. Instead of seeing the old wooden door to their room, a silver door appeared on the wall. Without hesitation, Draco grabbed and knob and stepped inside.

The two Slytherin girls simply grunted and stood on either side of the door and crossed their arms.

After twenty minutes of silence, one of the girls sighed, sitting down against the wall.

"This is so boring," the blonde mumbled. "He doesn't even tell us what he's doing in there."

The brunette picked at her nose unattractively. "Draco's always been like that though."

"Yeah, I guess."

An uncomfortable silence passed between the two of them and Hermione waited on the corner, still feeling utterly confused with the situation. Her mind whirled around, trying to make logical connections, but nothing fit the scenario. Why were these small girls being used as supposed guards to whatever Draco was doing? She knew she had to get past them, but attacking young, possibly ignorant and naïve girls weren't in her principals no matter what they were doing.

"Hey Vincent," the blonde spoke again. "Do you really think the Dark Lord's given Draco some great task?"

Hermione shocked herself still as said 'Vincent' shrugged her shoulders. "I dunno. What do you think Draco could even do for _him_?"

"Kill someone?" the blonde suggested with a snicker.

'Vincent' sniggered as well. "Oh yeah, he'd be real good at that. Did you hear about all the training he got this summer?"

"Training for what though?"

"What do you think, Greg?" the brunette sneered. "Obviously something great."

"Hn." 'Greg' nodded.

Hermione silently reached for her wand, not a shred of uncertainty in her mind now. They weren't small innocent girls at all. It was Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, clearly Polyjuiced in the last hour. No wonder they walked and spoke to Draco like they did. She didn't know where they had acquired the advanced Potion, but if their conversation about Draco mean anything, this was very bad indeed.

Calming her mind in preparation for non-verbal magic, Hermione pointed her wand at Crabbe first, putting forth all her concentration.

_Petrificus Totalus!_

Crabbe suddenly stiffened like a board, his arms and legs snapped together, causing the brunette girl to fall face forward. Before Goyle could react, Hermione shot her wand towards him, throwing a non-verbal silencing spell.

Goyle's eyes widened as he staggered back and opened his mouth to try to form words. He remained perfectly silent.

"_Stupefy!" _she hissed under her breath, catching the blonde squarely in the chest.

Both Slytherins crumpled to the floor and Hermione stunned Crabbe to be on the safe side. Panting slightly, she rushed to the two of them, crouching down and gently patting down their robes until she hit something she knew to be it. Pulling back Crabbe's robes, she pulled out a flask, popping back the lid and giving the contents a quick sniff.

She nearly gagged— definitely Polyjuice potion.

There was simply no way Draco himself created it. It took an entire month to create the potion and the portraits had told her this had been happening since the beginning of the year. Then who—

Slughorn.

_Of course_! The man had an entire cauldron of it for demonstration on class one.

Stuffing the flask away, she removed her own disillusionment charm and placed it over the two of them. It wouldn't do any good if anyone walked past to see two young girls silenced, petrified and unconscious on the floor.

She straightened her back and took a steadying breath. Now the easy part was done with. Tightening her grip on her wand, Hermione reached out and grabbed the silver doorknob, inhaled sharply and stepped inside.

She had never seen anything like it.

The place was massive. Hermione bit back a gasp as she closed the door quietly and stared at everything around her. She had stepped into a room that could only be compared to a muggle dump yard. Thousands upon thousands of objects filled every inch of her sight, ranging from old bloodied swords to battered textbooks to flying catapults. Piles of random objects extended so high and far, Hermione didn't think she'd ever see the end of it.

"What the hell…" she whispered to herself, feeling more overwhelmed by the second.

This couldn't be the Room of Requirement.

Swallowing back her nervousness, she steadied her wand in fear of anything jumping out at her, and stepped further into the room. She heard quiet, yet clearly frustrated mutterings of another person to her far right and took another hesitant step. A broken vase flattened as her foot collided with the glass, causing the shatter to echo through the chamber. The muttering stopped abruptly. A shrill noise followed the silence as if a chair had been pushed back, scraping against the ground and quick footsteps sounded towards her.

"I thought I told the two of you to stay—"

Hermione turned to his voice just in time to see Draco round the corner of a large mountain of objects and meet her eyes.

He stopped in his tracks the moment he saw her, his mouth locked, unable to finish his sentence as recognition and something close to shock passed through his face. His body stiffened visibly into a tense stance.

She lowered her wand. "Draco—"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he bit out, anger and surprise evident in his every word.

"That would be my question," she said sharply. "Polyjucing Crabbe and Goyle to stand guard outside—stealing potions from Professor Slughorn—what are _you_ doing, Draco? Why has it come to this?"

He looked shocked for another moment, unable to believe her words and then narrowed his eyes into a scowl. "What have you done?"

She mirrored his expression. "They're fine, if you must know. Stunned and disillusioned on the ground but still there."

There was a tense silence as they both stared, not a single sound echoed through the room.

"I'm here to talk to you," she said at last, not wavered by his menacing scowl. "I'm done with you ignoring me like I don't exist. We're going to talk this out like reasonable people—"

"There's nothing to talk about!" he snarled, taking a step back. "Get out, Granger, _now._"

"What happened to you?" she forcefully asked, ignoring his threat. "Why haven't you responded to any of my letters? What happened after I left for the Ministry last year? Why—"

"It's done with!" he raised his voice over hers. "Just stop! Granger, don't—"

"Then answer me!" she retorted hotly, letting frustration creep into her voice. "At least give me an explanation—anything!"

"I don't owe you—"

"You gave me _nothing,_ Draco! Nothing! Just a four-letter note with no other explanation to tell me what happened or why you decided to give up! I think I deserve at least—"

"Stop!" he clamped his eyes shut and sharply turned his head away. "Things have changed—I've made my decision!"

"And this is it?!" she cried bitterly, waving her hands around them.

He seemed to hesitate. "Yes."

"_Why_? Why did you choose Voldemort?" she yelled, stepping towards him. This was obviously the wrong move as he visibly cringed back. "Is this your answer? Did everything that happened in the last two years mean _nothing_ to you?"

"I didn't choose him!" he slashed his hand in front of him, breaking an old desk. "I told you! I told you this would happen! You didn't listen to me—I didn't choose him!"

"Then what _did_ you choose?" she bellowed, inwardly cringing as her voice boomed through the chamber angrily. "What happened? Just tell me so I can understand—"

"You won't understand anything! Stop trying to stick your unwanted face into my business—I'm not answering to you!"

"So then you're answering to _him_, is it?" she retorted icily, feeling her jaw clench tightly.

His scowl deepened. "Get out."

Hermione stopped in her tracks, feeling a strong wave of anxiety and fear settle in her stomach. She swallowed thickly, meeting his gaze head on. Harry's words suddenly rang between her ears.

"Show me your arm."

Draco's eyes twitched, he stepped back yet again. "I don't have to show you anything. Now _get out_."

"Show me your arm," she repeated more firmly, feeling dread grip her heart. "If you can't show me then _tell _me. Tell me you didn't get his Mark…"

He didn't respond.

"Say something," she whispered weakly. "Prove me wrong."

After another minute of his silence, Hermione pushed her body forward, closing the distance between them with long strides.

"Granger, stop," he hissed, raising his own wand.

"Then prove me wrong!" she yelled in frustration and anger. "Just say you didn't do it!"

"I swear I _will _stop you by force if I have to—"

"Then curse me!" she pointed her wand at his left sleeve. "_Diffindo_!"

Without incantation, Draco blocked her charm with a powerful shield, causing her spell to ricochet off and slice open an old robe to their left. He pointed his wand at her and cast another non-verbal spell.

She expertly blocked the body-binding curse with a wave of her wand and aimed another fabric cutting charm at his forearm. When on earth had he gotten so adept at non-verbal spells?

He parried with a Stunner, immediately followed by leg-locking curse, his expression contorted into a mixture of desperation and rage. Spells flew between them, ricocheting off each other's shields and crashing into random objects nearby.

After a blasting jinx missed her shoulder by inches, she felt a sudden realization hit her.

This wasn't a duel anymore. They weren't trying to outdo each other with advanced spells like all their practice spars in the Room of Requirement. For a numbing moment, she saw his form waver and a taller and more intimidating man replaced his image, sneering at her, the killing curse at the tip of his wand.

Shaking her head, Hermione blasted the image from her mind, clamping down on her mental shields and managed to avoid another stunner. She knew she would never get close to him at this rate. Dodging one curse and blocking the other, Hermione turned on her heel and pointed to the never-ending mountain of objects near him.

"_Reducto_!"

Blue light filled her line of sight as the tower of random objects exploded into a rain of ash and shards, causing the entire frame to crumple and fall. Cabinets and desks fell from high above, crashing onto the floor and splintering into broken pieces, textbooks of all shapes and sizes came raining on them dangerously, followed by a hemorrhage of old weapons and cauldrons.

Through the destruction, Hermione saw Draco run back and throw a large shield over what appeared to be an ancient cabinet. He had been so preoccupied trying to protect the strange cabinet from falling objects, he had failed to notice a chunk of what looked like half a piano, barrel its way straight to him.

Letting instinct take ahold of her, Hermione ran forward and threw herself across the floor, tackling Draco at his stomach and tossing both of them a dozen feet from where the piano had come crashing down and utterly shattered upon impact, missing the old cabinet by inches.

After another minute of collapsing furniture and falling trash bins, the rain of objects came to a halt. Dust and splinters of ash congested the air and Hermione coughed harshly, feeling her eyes water. Broken shards of glass and wood covered the area and she felt a heavy weight on top of her, also coughing quite loudly. Her left shoulder and head throbbed painfully, reminding her of their uncoordinated landing. She could only hope she hadn't dislocated anything.

Ignoring her pain, she quickly turned her sore body around and made a mad leap for Draco's left wrist, grabbing it before he had the chance to pull it back.

"Granger, stop!" he coughed out.

A mixture of dread and hope washed over her as she grabbed his sleeve and yanked it back.

Marked on his pale skin was a large black skull with a snake protruding from its jaws, slithering and pulsing on his arm as if it could jump out any second. Time seemed to stop as memories of Snape revealing his Mark came flooding back to her. It was exactly as she recalled—it was real. Hermione stopped breathing. Her hands loosened and began to shake as she stared at it longer, unwilling to process what she was seeing. Her wand clattered to the floor.

A large hand came across her vision, clamping itself over her eyes and turning the world momentarily black.

"Don't—look—at—it—" she heard him strain behind her, sounding more pleading than demanding.

She dropped his arm limply, unable to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Dumbledore was right. Harry was right.

She had failed.

"Granger—"

"I—I am _so _sorry," she choked out quietly, feeling her tears fall freely even with her eyes squeezed shut. Her chest ached to breathe but air wasn't cycling in fast enough. "I'm so, so sorry, Draco—I tried—I couldn't help—I'm sorry… I really—"

A torrential sob passed through her throat, cutting off her next words. She felt his fingers tighten around her temples as her tears tracked onto his palm, then spilled down her cheeks.

"Don't say anymore," he demanded harshly. "Just accept it… this is how it's supposed to be."

Hermione shook her head weakly, unable to speak a response. She didn't want to hear it. Somewhere in her mind, she had known since the waking up in St. Mungo's that things wouldn't be right anymore, but now that reality had hit her, it tore her more than anything.

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing!" Draco tore his hand from her face, letting the chamber's light flood her vision. He pulled both arms back in a defensive gesture and balled his fingers into a tight fist.

"No," she gasped quietly, trying to reign in her tears. "It's not—This isn't it…"

She turned to face him, trying to meet his eyes. She hesitatingly reached for his shoulder, only to receive a quick jerk in the other direction. His face twisted with sudden vexation as he finally looked at her.

"Stop _doing _that!" he growled, a dozen different emotions flying through his wide, grey eyes. "Granger, do not touch me! You—You make me _weak_ and that's not something I can afford right now!"

"Draco," she closed her own hand to keep it from moving towards him. "I—"

"I've got to do this!" he shouted over her, looking more crazed than determined. "I have to! It's real. We're on opposites sides of the war now."

She numbly shook her head again, biting down her tongue to stop another wave of emotions from taking over. She gave a sharp exhale.

"Is this what you want?" she whispered out, swallowing thickly. "Truly?"

He looked down and for a moment, she thought he would deny it. "Yes. I have to do this."

She clamped down her lids, forcing the last of her tears to fade out. She felt pathetic. What had she been doing for the past two years?

"Granger, look at me."

Her eyes shot open at the direct address, finding Draco's expression hardened, resolution in his gaze.

"You owe me a favor and this is it," he said lowly. "Promise me that you won't involve yourself in my activities. That whatever I do here—don't ask, don't care. I need to do this alone."

Memories of their conversation on the Quidditch Pitch in their fourth year came flying back to her no matter how she wished to forget.

She held back a scream. "You can't! That's—"

"Keep your word," he hissed through his teeth. "You swore on your honor that you'd do it!"

She felt her chest tighten. "_No_."

"Granger. _Say it,_" he demanded quietly, eyes blazing. "You owe it to me. If anything, just grant me this last thing."

She turned her head away, unable to believe how painfully her heart caved at his words. Even her magic seemed weak to respond. Every muscle in her body wanted to reject his command, but her beaten will knew she had a promise to fulfill to him.

"_Hermione, _please_._"

Her body subconsciously reacted as her name tumbled out of his mouth, causing her throat to constrict. Of course the one time she heard him use her given name; it would be as everything was falling apart. She looked back at him.

Draco's eyebrows were creased in a determined slant, his lips pressed into a tight line, the veins in his neck were pushed under his pale skin from the stiff expression.

Inwardly, she knew she couldn't do anything. This was where their roads split, almost as if it was truly inevitable; they could never be.

"Would it help you?" she murmured. "Is there really nothing else—"

"This is it," he said again, not a shred of uncertainty in his tone. "It's better this way."

Feeling numb, Hermione reached for her forgotten wand and gently plucked it from the mess of broken shelves and lamps that had fallen earlier. Even as she grabbed her wand, the usual pulse of magic that followed felt dim and unresponsive, as if it was mirroring her state of mind.

She threw a final look to the blonde Slytherin before her, unable to believe that this was their farewell. For the last two years, he had been the bane of her assignment from Dumbledore, and now, the chasm between them was once again widening rapidly.

Placing a quick hand over his tightened fist, she cut the little space between their faces with a distinct lean and pressed her forehead over his, feeling his skin burn against hers.

"Then I promise," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice even. She lifted her gaze to his strained eyes, trying to understand his heart for the last time.

His eyes were clouded, filled with too many thoughts that she couldn't fully understand.

"Bye, Draco."

.

When Harry and Ron had found Hermione, lying absentmindedly in the common room and gazing at the tall ceiling with blank eyes, she knew that she was not the only one affected by Voldemort's mad influence.

Stan Shunpike had been arrested.

Hannah Abbott's mother had been found murdered.

Eloise Midgen was pulled out of Hogwarts.

Dumbledore was constantly missing from his seat in the Great Hall.

Aragog was dying, causing Hagrid to constantly burst into sobs.

The list went on.

So she had failed to save Draco. He was simply one in the hundreds, possibly thousands of consequences from Voldemort's return. All around her, the wizarding world was crumbling to its knees with fear.

"So you didn't get the Keeper position?" Hermione asked mechanically, not looking away from the ceiling as both boys came to sit on the empty chairs.

Ron's face soured. "Why would you say that? I got it all right."

She blinked. She didn't have to be subconsciously tunneling Legilimency to read his face. Ron was just as much of an open book as Harry. "Well, you didn't burst into the room talking about how amazingly well you performed and all the little details, I suspected the worst."

"I don't do that!" Ron argued, turning red. He looked to Harry. "Do I?"

Harry grimaced, clearing his throat and turned to Hermione instead. "Ron did get Keeper, but so did Cormac McLaggen. They both blocked five goals and it had been a long morning, there was too much arguing, complaining and general exhaustion—I just gave them both the position and told them they'd be switching off every game."

So that was why Ron's face was burning red.

"Also, um, Slughorn wanted to invite you and I to his dinner party," Harry said reluctantly, darting a glance at Ron. "But I have Snape's detention tonight and I don't think he'll reschedule it _again._"

"I wasn't planning on going anyway," she said stoically.

Ron suddenly jumped from his seat, scowling. "Well, as I'm not invited to any parties, I think I'll go to bed."

Harry sighed as the redhead stormed out, leaning back in his chair.

"Hermione?"

"Hn."

"Well… are you all right?" Harry stared with his bright green eyes, blinking with worry. "You've been acting down since this morning. Weren't you doing some special research?"

She sighed quietly through her nose, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Harry, what would you do if after two years, you realized that your all hard work has been for naught and there's nothing else you could possibly do?"

Obviously taken aback by the sudden question, he scratched his neck, thinking. "Let it go, I guess. I mean, is it really that important that you get it right?"

"It… is," she said slowly. "I want to do something, but there's just… nothing I can do at all."

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Come back to it later, then?"

"I can't," she stressed, frowning. "It has to be now. The longer I wait, the more I won't understand and the more he'll slip away from me."

Harry blinked. "Wait. What exactly are we talking about?"

"Just a hypothetical situation," she said quickly, biting her own tongue for the mistake. "I'm trying to figure this situation out, but I'm running into wall after wall. There's something that I'm not quite grasping… but I just don't know what it is."

He sighed, clearly exhausted. "I'm not sure, Hermione. Maybe try from a different perspective? I'm sure it'll all make sense to you one day."

Hermione glanced at his tired form, guilt bubbling in her chest. "Go get some rest Harry. You still have an hour until your appointment with Snape. I'm sure you'll need it."

Harry got to his feet without complaint, stretching out his shoulders. "Yeah, I think I'll do that. You get some rest too. Night."

"Night," she whispered, feeling her mind whirl.

A different perspective, huh?

.

"Please, Hermione. Please, please, _please. _You can't leave me to be there alone _again_!"

She gave a throaty sigh, looking up from her textbook and met the pleading eyes of Ginny Weasley.

"Is it really that bad?" she asked.

Ginny groaned. "I'm the only Gryffindor there with the exception of Cormac McLaggen, and all he talks about is himself anyway—he doesn't count! You don't even have to dress nicely! I swear!"

Feeling her resolve break, Hermione pulled up her wrist, glancing at her watch. This was her third invitation to the famed Slug Club and while Hermione honestly had better things to do with her time, helping Ginny out was always a must. "Fine. When is it?"

The redhead beamed, wrapping her arms around Hermione's shoulders in a bear hug. "Oh, I owe you! Thank you—it's at eight tonight—meet me down here at seven forty-five all right?"

Without another word, Ginny skipped off upstairs smiling all the way. Hermione let out another small sigh, hoping she wasn't going to regret this.

When the large hand hit forty-five, Hermione waited in the common room, having dressed in a clean uniform and forced her hair back into a thick plait. Ginny came padding down the stairs soon after, dressed in a nicer robe, but nothing overly fancy.

"Ready?" Ginny smiled.

At her nod, the two left the Gryffindor Tower, scaling down seven flights of stairs to Slughorn's office. Hermione felt a twinge in her stomach, understanding that she was walking into Slytherin territory. She wouldn't put it past her if Draco rounded the corner at any moment.

"So who exactly is invited every week?" she voiced out loud, curious.

"Not a lot of us," Ginny grumbled, "it's what makes it so awkward. Four Slytherins, a Hufflepuff, then McLaggen and me."

Hermione grunted slightly, taking in a sharp breath as Ginny pushed open the double doors to Slughorn's office.

The interior was lightly decorated with cool colors, contrasting with the gold sparkles that seemed to accent every piece of fabric in the room. Silver candles floated above their heads and on the table, giving the entire room a very airy feel.

"Miss Weasley! Well, and if it isn't Miss Granger as well—I'm glad that you could finally make it," Slughorn beamed, shaking her hand in his enormous grip. "Go on, sit, sit, everyone's here already—no Harry, again?"

"I'm afraid not, professor," Ginny shook her head, taking in one of the two empty chairs next to McLaggen, leaving Hermione to take the one next to her.

As she slid into her seat, the wizard next to her threw her a scathing glance, his dark eyes showing nothing but distaste. Thrown off for only a moment, Hermione glared right back.

"Oh, darn! Ah, well, there will always be next time!" Slughorn boomed, twisting his large mustache and taking a seat at the end of the round table. "Now, now, dig in! Since it's Miss Granger's first visit today, let's start off with you, my dear. Of course, I saw for myself in class that the rumors can only be true—the smartest student of your year, eh?"

Hermione swallowed back a sip of her Butterbeer before nodding. "Hours of hard work, professor—"

"And a muggleborn at that?" he interjected excitedly.

She blinked. "I assure you, professor, that blood is not might."

There was a tense silence that followed and Ginny threw her a wary glance. The wizard next to her, who Hermione finally recognized as Blaise Zabini, looked murderous.

"Now, now," Slughorn licked his lips, glancing around the table. "Don't be misunderstood my dear, I only pointed out your standing because it reminded me of my once prized student, Lily Evans, Harry's mother actually—as I'm sure you've heard from the boy! She was muggleborn herself and a fantastic one at that!"

Hermione gripped the underside of the table, forcing back her retorts. "Thank you, sir."

Slughorn's smile seemed to return. "And of course, I heard from a little bird that you were present during the Ministry skirmish with Miss Weasley just last June? Although the unheard prophecy is a shameful matter and I do understand the _Prophet_ tends to print mistakes, but you must tell me—whatever possible—any at all details, my dears."

Ginny frowned. "Like I said on the train, sir, there isn't much that the _Prophet _didn't say."

Slughorn didn't seem to be looking at her, but squarely at Hermione, eyes awaiting information.

Hermione put her fork down. "It was a life-risking battle, professor. We were up against the same Death Eaters that put Neville's parents into permanent insanity. There were Killing Curses being thrown around—none of us left the Ministry unscathed."

Slughorn gave a nervous chuckle, as the tense atmosphere seemed to return. "But surely, you must have an immeasurable skill for dueling then—why, Flilius was a Dueling Champion back before his Hogwarts days—you should have seen the man!"

"Speaking of, Professor," McLaggen interrupted smoothly. "You must have heard of my second cousin—dear Abertha—who nearly took the championship title just last season."

Slughorn turned, his attention solely focused on McLaggen now. "Did she? Why that's most impressive! Are you in often contact with her for…"

Hermione took the reprieve with a quiet sigh, letting Slughorn trail off into the back of her mind. Ginny nudged her ribs slightly, eyes wide with concern.

She squeezed her hand, letting her know that she was fine. After a reassuring nod, Ginny returned her attention back to Slughorn's conversation.

The remainder of dinner went rather smoothly. Slughorn coerced a conversation out of everyone at the table, he even returned to her to ask about her current studies with great interest. He was confident that she would go far in the wizarding world.

When the clock struck ten, the table was cleared of all remaining food and plates with a wave of his wand and Slughorn bid each of them farewell as they left his office doors.

Ginny was visibly tired and eager to head back, Hermione followed after her in silence, navigating through the Slytherin Dungeons.

She was still fuming over Slughorn's words, even though she knew he meant no harm. It was simply drilled into him like every other pureblood.

A _fantastic muggleborn_?

Muggleborn children are brought in the wizarding world, expected to fail, expected to not do as well as the pureblood ones, because they are automatically _lower-class_. So of course it comes as a surprise when a muggleborn happens to outperform the purebloods—no one ever says, 'a fantastic pureblood', it's immediately assumed. She growled under her breath, taking a deep inhale in an attempt to sooth her anger. _Oh, the inequity of it all!_

She released a harsh sigh, burying Draco's face into the deep recess of her mind. He was different issue altogether.

"_Blood is not might_—is that right, Granger?"

She stopped cold in her tracks, turning on her heel to face the one wizard who had said nothing to her throughout the entire dinner.

"What of it, Zabini?" Ginny retorted, having looked back as well. "It's not like your grades are any better."

He glared. "Big words from a _filthy mudblood_ such as yourself."

She could have sworn something in her snapped.

"How _dare you_!" Ginny screamed, throwing her body forward.

Hermione threw a hand out to stop Ginny, who was struggling in her grasp. "I'd rather be a filthy mudblood than an inbred," she said coldly.

"What did you say?" he growled, whipping out his wand.

"Did I stutter, Zabini?" she raised her eyebrows, fingering her own wand under her sleeve. "Are you lacking basic understanding under all that pureblood inbreeding? Can't even comprehend—"

The first spell came flying at her before she could finish. She blocked it with a wave of her own wand, causing the nasty jinx to ricochet off in the narrow dungeon halls.

"Ginny, get back," she growled, whipping up shield after shield without incantation. "This one's personal. This one's _my war_."

The redhead looked aghast. "Hermione—"

"For me," she hissed, throwing up another shield. "As the muggleborn, as the repressed—if you value _any_ of that in me, don't help."

Ginny faltered, she could see conflict in her gaze.

It was enough. Giving her full attention back to the wizard before her, she threw back her own curses, not giving him the benefit of hearing them. She could see it. His grasp on non-verbal spells were weak and the moment the opportunity rose, he would be down.

Her chance came a split second later, Hermione let a silencing spell lash out, slamming right into his chest. His spell died in his throat and for a moment, she saw fear run through his dark eyes.

A leg-locking curse caught him right after and he went crashing against the marble floor, not a single sound slipping from his throat. With another flick of her wand, his body slid across the floor towards her feet as if he was hooked on a string. She grabbed a fistful of his robes, pulling him up to meet her eyes.

"_Legilimens_!"

The world went white and she found herself surrounded by flashing memories, emotions, and thoughts. Without restraint or hesitation, she tore through the landscape, letting anger be her guide. She was so_ frustrated_, so bitter and angry at everything she let all her emotions pour out like a broken faucet. She wanted to make him understand. To see what she had to walk through in order to be where she was—and even then, there were chains binding her in place.

A scream was heard in the distance but Hermione didn't care. Whatever had snapped in her earlier wouldn't stop until she was satisfied.

His mindscape suddenly shattered away and she found her connection breaking off. Zabini's mind tore away from her grasp and she was thrown back into reality, finding his face inches from hers, screaming and thrashing in her hands. The silencing spell had worn off.

"—rmione, _stop_! Stop!"

A strong hand suddenly ripped Zabini out of her grasp and Hermione was shoved back, stumbling and panting hard. Her mind was whirling uncontrollably, emotions bubbling against the surface of her mental shields and her hands were shaking.

Zabini continued to scream and thrash against the ground, clutching his head, until a stunner hit him right in the face, causing the boy to finally lose consciousness. Silence returned to the corridor once again, Hermione could hear her own heart beating, but her face felt blank and cold.

A fierce grip took hold of her shoulder and she was forced to look into the blazing eyes of Severus Snape. Livid could not cover his expression.

"Miss Weasley, return to your tower at once," he said lowly, not once breaking contact with Hermione. "I do not want to hear a word of this, understand?"

"But, Hermi—"

"Go. _Now."_

There was no space for argument.

Ginny rose to her feet—when had she collapsed?—nodding ever so slightly before dashing off into the dark corridor. When the last of her long red hair disappeared, Snape released her shoulder.

"Follow me."

Hermione made no comment to refuse. Her mind was still blinking, moving at a mile a minute. What had she done?

Snape's wrist made a well-practiced, yet lazy flick as if he had done many times before, Zabini's body levitated a foot off the ground, following next to him as Snape strode through the castle.

Hermione knew this route; she had visited the place many times before after all. Sure enough, after a few silent minutes of walking, they reached the Infirmary. Snape strode through the double doors, not once looking back to make sure she was following.

"Severus?" Madam Pomfrey appeared from behind a curtain, eyes immediately going to Zabini. "What happened?"

"Head trauma," he said in a clipped tone. Zabini's body rose onto an empty bed, and Snape flicked his wand once more, releasing the spell. "I suspect he won't be waking up for a while—expect memory distortion."

Without letting the matron get in another word, Snape turned on his heel and stalked out of the Infirmary. Hermione followed obediently.

His course took them back towards the Slytherin Dungeons and Hermione didn't have to think twice to know that he was leading her to his office. She had been there many times before.

The torches flared to life as Snape unlocked his door with a wave of his hand, stepping inside. She followed in after, hearing the heavy door shut behind her.

Suddenly, her fate felt dangerously sealed.

* * *

A/N: Hope everyone had a fantastic New Years! I can't believe break is all over - it felt like yesterday when I came home from Uni. Anyway, I have lots to say in this note so moving on!

Hermione's biggest fear, as seen from her boggart, is failure. So at this point, she's a mixture of depressed, angry, and feeling incompetent. She's failed to stop Draco from the getting the Mark (since she doesn't know his exact circumstances at the moment, all she knows is that Draco went to Voldemort and came back with the Dark Mark). So yeah, Blaise calling her out reminded Hermione of her deepest insecurity, causing her to finally snap. I was actually looking forward to this moment, and I think it's an important hurdle for her to pass over.

Why Blaise? Contrary to convenience, I had quite a few people on Tumblr ask me if I was going to incorporate other Slytherins such as Blaise or Theodore, and after some thought and weeks of shifting around the plot—yes, I've decided to fit them in. Blaise's current character is pretty much pulled straight from the books (what's there of it), and with Theodore, well, there's absolutely nothing on him so he's a clean slate to work with. We'll see how this goes.

Lastly, I'm almost at 1k reviews, so whoever is my 1000th reviewer, you get to prompt me for a one-shot in which I will dedicate to you! You must be logged in, or else I won't be able to PM you or know who you are—apologies to my guest reviewers. If you happen to leave a spam of reviews, I will count you as one entry.

Big thanks to everyone and I'll see you guys soon,

El


	28. The Consequence of War

Disclaimer: I am still a poor Uni student.

* * *

Chapter 28: The Consequence of War

.

For a minute, there was nothing but silence.

Hermione sat across the large oak desk, staring into Snape's unforgiving gaze. The torches hung low on the walls, flickering orange light across the room and casting a deep shadow against his features.

At last, he spoke, "I've apparently misunderstood you, Miss Granger. To think you have the capacity to inflict mental torture of the highest form—"

"I didn't," she blurted through her teeth, arms still shaking. Rage was still bubbling her stomach and she swallowed hard. "I—I was just so… angry, and he was there, calling me a _filthy mudblood_, and I—"

"Emotions do not change your morals," he said coldly. "It matters little what you were feeling. The fact is that you have willingly done it."

Guilt.

That's what she was missing.

She blinked, waiting for the crushing shame and the tears to ask for forgiveness to come hammering into her chest.

Nothing came.

"What do you want me to say, professor?" she said quietly.

After a pause, he gave a long-suffering sigh. "Tell me what occurred. Every detail."

So she did.

From every glare Zabini had given her during Slughorn's dinner, to the cutting words in the corridor, to the moment of pure fury and hatred she felt for the boy—there was nothing left out.

"I just wanted him to understand how hard it is to be a muggleborn without him telling me," she ended. "Especially now that the war is so real."

Snape continued to watch her, lacing his fingers on top of the desk. "Miss Granger, why do you think war happens?"

She frowned. "Because Vold—_he's—_an foul psychopath who wants to murder my best friend and terrorize Wizarding Britain! How else could this war come about?"

"Don't give me such a one-sided answer," he sneered. "_Think_, girl. War is much more complicated than it seems."

Swallowing back her sudden distaste, she gritted her teeth. "They're evil. Why should—"

"Do _not_ try to be honorable," Snape said icily. "The moment you step into war, both sides are evil. Every person you antagonize is someone's son, brother, friend—can you possibly take responsibility for it all?"

Hermione faltered, feeling her mind come to a stop.

"War happens because both sides are just," he continued. "For you it may be the coming of terror, but for someone else, it is the chance to accomplish their dreams. To them, _you_ are the evil in the world."

She felt sick. "Because they honestly—with all their soul—believe that what they're doing is _right_."

"And are you any different?"

For the first time in the conversation, Hermione looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "No. I guess I'm not."

"Would you consider Mr Zabini's actions tonight in any form, righteous?" he questioned.

"No."

"Then do you believe your response was rightfully done?"

"…No."

"Detention," he said in a clipped voice. "Every Friday with me for the next month."

She felt her stomach clench. "Yes, sir."

Recognizing the finality and dismissal in his voice, Hermione rose from her seat, ready to leave. She turned from his desk, stopping at the other side of the open door when a question lingered to the forefront of her mind.

"Professor?" she called quietly. He didn't answer and she took it as her cue to continue. "If both sides are so similar, then what makes us separate at all?"

He was silent for a moment before responding. "In this war, would you die for your friends?"

"Of course," she replied with hesitation. She had known this since her first year.

Snape's expression seemed to darken. "And they would kill for theirs. In the end, which side is truly doing the right thing?"

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing seemed to come out.

"There are no victors in war. Remember that."

The door shut with a wave of his hand.

.

There were barely any whispers of Zabini's incapacitation throughout the week. Snape had done an excellent job of covering up for his absence and Ginny, as promised, had not told a soul what occurred that night.

No questions were asked. All the redhead asked was for a hug and left it at that.

Hermione sat next to Neville during breakfast on Friday morning, looking at an open tome in her lap but not really reading it.

There were too many things to think about and for the first time in which she could remember, Hermione wished that her brain would stop and forget everything for just a little while.

Deciding to eat in favor of avoiding a headache later, Hermione closed her text and stuffed it back into her bag underneath the table, when she felt a strange resistance. Frowning, she pulled the tome back out, finding a flash of gold catch her eye.

There, caught between the spine of her book and a hook of the bag was the Time Turner. She froze. She hadn't seen the necklace after throwing it into her bag in a fit of grief after saying goodbye to Draco.

Gently untangling the precious item, she sighed, stuffing it back into her pocket as she slid the book back into her bag.

A sudden idea gripped her.

"Hermione, you okay down there?"

Careful not to bash her head, she slid out from underneath the table, smiling at the boy next to her. "I'm fine, Neville. Just found something in my bag that I forgot about."

She gripped the Time Turner in her pocket and sighed. She owed it to him, anyway.

When her first class of the morning let out, Hermione scampered into a deserted corridor, going through the familiar motion of pulling out her Time Turner and giving it two solid spins.

The world around her blurred and spun away. Hermione reopened her eyes to find herself at the doors of the Infirmary. Taking a deep breath, she held her hand out and pushed through the large double doors.

Madam Pomfrey was moving about, tending to her patients with her usual stern look, as if daring them to do something stupid under her watch. The second year currently under her care wilted.

"Miss Granger," she noted, obviously surprised to see her there. "Are you injured?"

She shook her head. "I'm here for visitation purposes. I won't make much noise, I promise."

Madam Pomfrey looked as if she was about to retort, but nodded. "You know the rules. Whom are you visiting for?"

"Blaise Zabini."

Once more, the matron's eyes widened in surprise, but she gestured to the bed furthest away from the door, closed off by the white curtain.

Smiling in thanks, Hermione made her way to the end of the long room, pausing in front of the curtain. She gave a deep exhale and slipped past the drapery.

His head snapped at the noise, eyes wide with disbelief. "You."

Pulling the extra chair beside the bed, Hermione moved it around and sat down, flicking out her wand.

"_Muffliato_," she muttered.

As much as she hated relying on questionably sourced spells, she couldn't deny that it was damn useful. Besides, Harry and Ron weren't here to call her out on it.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Zabini snarled out, eyes narrowing.

She crossed her arms, wand still in hand. "I came to apologize, Zabini. It wasn't my intention to—"

"Save your breath," he spat. "I don't want even to see your face, you mudbl—"

He suddenly hissed in pain, eyes squeezing shut as he clutched his head and doubled over.

Hermione reached out, instinctively wanting to steady him, but pulled back her straying hand after a second thought. She wouldn't put it past him if he tried to punch her for touching him.

His grunts turned into slight pants as another memory undoubtedly seamed itself in place—albeit, quite painfully. She hadn't destroyed or obliviated his memories, but tore apart the strings that tied them together. At worst, he could have lost all parts of himself and who he was, but according to Snape, she had not gone far enough for that sort of damage.

And she was thankful.

She winced slightly, watching him struggle.

"I _hate you_," he said with such venom, eyes flashing.

"I don't blame you," she replied. "I think I'd hate myself too."

Surprise ran across his face before it was masked again. Hermione didn't know if it was a Slytherin thing, but she found reading his face to be harder than Harry or Ron's. She knew first hand that he held no skill in holding Occlumency shields whatsoever, so his ability to hide emotions must have ran on a conscious, well practiced level.

"Get out of here, Granger. Before I force you out."

She grunted. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to deal with my presence for the next hour and a half. And I wouldn't overexert yourself, after all, you wouldn't want Madam Pomfrey to be fussing all over you to rest."

"Then what the hell do you want?" he demanded.

_Every person you antagonize is someone's son, brother, friend—can you possibly take responsibility for it all?_

"I swear, if you're here to lord your momentary rise over me, I'll—"

"Do you have any siblings?" she blurted, cutting him off.

Zabini's glare turned into one of confusion and he visibly wavered. "What?"

"No? A single child then?" she pondered. "I thought so. I'm a single child too."

Pulling out one of the lower cabinet shelves, she propped her feet on the edge, getting comfortable. She yanked out her Runes text from her bag and cracked it open on her lap, trying to find the page she last left off on.

"What's your favorite subject?"

Silence.

"What is wrong with you, Granger?"

She looked up from her book, frowning. "I'm asking questions. What's wrong with that?"

"I don't associate myself with mudbloods and blood traitors," he said lowly. "What part of that do you not get?"

"Oh, I get it," she said offhandedly, turning back to her tome. "I just don't care at this point. Which is why I'm apologizing, you really did catch me at a bad moment last week—I admit, any other week I wouldn't have cared but, well, I wasn't myself."

"A bad moment? Hell! You tore apart a good years worth of my memories! Only someone as savage, and lowly as yourself could—"

"God, have you always been so _crass_?" she asked. "You've been on the quiet side in class so I assumed you'd be more eloquent in speech."

He looked stunned for a second before scowling once more.

"You know, Zabini," she said softly, "I had this conversation with someone else a few years ago, but I think I'd like to ask you too… Why do you hate those who aren't pureblooded?"

"Is it that hard to guess?" he snapped. "You guys are the embarrassment of our society. Everything about you screams inferior, incompetent—"

"Now, now, you know for a fact that's not true," she said calmly, ignoring the stab in her chest. "You think my brain is fabricated?"

"You're just an insufferable know-it-all. I'm sure there's an explanation for the defect that you are."

She nodded. Unsurprisingly, it was the same thing Draco had said to her. "Fascinating. Now tell me what _you_ think. Not what your mother told you."

"That _is_ what I think," he said sharply. "Why don't you admit that you can't match up to us purebloods no matter what you do?"

"Do you realize how contradicting you sound?" she raised a brow. "Besides, I'm not aiming to match up to purebloods. I'm already past you all."

He snorted and then gave a subdued cry as another memory painfully pieced back together inside his head. He doubled over once more, clutching his temples with his long fingers.

"I hate to say this," she sighed, "but the process would go much faster and twice as painless if you'd just let me in again and fix—

"Like I'd trust a mudblood!" he hissed.

Suddenly, Hermione was quite thankful she had put up the Muffliato Charm earlier. There was no doubt Madam Pomfrey would have rushed in multiple times to chide the boy of his language and kick her out in the process for bothering her patient. How many times has it been now?

"Yeah, I suppose at this point I wouldn't trust myself either," she muttered.

"Get out."

"You know, when I first came to Hogwarts, I thought that this was one of the most magical places, but also the cruelest," she said, returning her gaze to the book on her lap. "Everywhere I walked, I was reminded of how I had no standing in the world. And back then, I had no Harry and Ron with me."

"Like I care," he grunted, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands.

"But I've come to learn that you guys aren't spared either. What affects me, ultimately affects you too."

He turned his face, nose cradled in his palm. "You're out of your mind."

"Purebloods are expected to preform to perfection, striving above everyone—failure is not an option, last place is not an option. You're taught to be ashamed of yourself if you can't grasp something that a lowly half-blood or muggleborn can, regardless of circumstance. For purebloods, if you're not the best, then you're no one. Our entire society is chained by expectations that are supposed to fit one size for all, but in reality…. Does it really do that?"

Zabini dropped his hand onto the sheets with a _thud,_ narrowing his eyes at her in silence.

"Don't talk about things you have no idea about."

"You're right," she smiled slightly. "I'm at the complete other end of the spectrum so I can't say for myself. But I do know the pressure—after all, we're all struggling under the same concept."

He turned his head, unwilling to say anything and Hermione knew her quota for the day has been reached.

Slamming her tome shut, she stuffed the large book back into her bag, slinging the strap over her shoulder as she moved the chair and shelf back to its rightful place.

"I'll leave you be, I've got to get to class," she grinned, feeling much more light-hearted than she had in weeks. "Actually, I'll probably see you tomorrow. Bye."

Zabini's head turned so quickly, she swore she heard his neck crack. "If I see you here tomorrow, Granger, I swear—"

She closed the curtain behind her, cutting off his threat as she stood outside the range of the charm.

Waving farewell to Madam Pomfrey, Hermione walked out of the Infirmary with a skip in her step.

.

Contrary to Zabini's wishes, Hermione ended up visiting the bloke every day until his discharge at the end of the week. She couldn't quite put a finger on why she did, only that talking to him reminded her of Draco and a new flare of hope was rising in her with every passing day.

She wouldn't directly interfere with his activities at Hogwarts—she had promised him that much—but it didn't mean she couldn't figure out what he was up to and his reasons behind it.

When the end of October arrived and the first Hogsmeade trip was set for the year, Hermione followed Harry and Ron down to the Great Hall for breakfast, steadily ignoring their boisterous laughter about how Harry had managed to dangle Ron upside-down with a new spell.

A part of her felt irritation at their carelessness of using random and unauthorized spells without proper testing. What if it was a terrible jinx or curse? The other half of her was pondering the identity of the prince once more. Who on earth had the skill to create and master spells from scratch in their sixth year? Hermione had been dabbling in spell creation as a side hobby, but it was an intensive and incredibly complicated branch of magic that only the elite of the elite could manage. Yet, there was the so-called Half-Blood Prince, managing multiple personal creations while he was still in school.

Inwardly grumbling, Hermione stuffed her hands inside her pockets, sitting across from the two boys.

Breakfast was pleasant enough and Harry had received information about his second lesson with Professor Dumbledore, excitement written over his face.

Chatters filled the air as students started trickling out the Great Hall. She followed after Harry and Ron who were discussing their trip to Hogsmeade.

"Wait," Ron gasped, stopping dead in his tracks. He whipped his head around to face her. "What do you mean you're not going to Hogsmeade? I mean, the weather's not great but how could you miss the first trip of the year?"

She frowned. "I told you and Harry last week. I have a detention to serve today and I can't make it."

She briefly thought of utilizing the Time Turner, but that was a betrayal to Dumbledore for such a fickle reason—she refused to do it. She had only picked it up for Zabini as an apology to the wizard due to her own lack of control.

Ron looked appalled. "But—"

"Yeah, I remember," Harry interceded. "Who'd you get detention with anyway?"

She shrugged. "Professor Snape."

"I don't remember him signing you up for any detention," Ron crossed his arms. "I bet it was completely bigoted and uncalled for, huh? Like answering a question right—"

"No, Ron," she said firmly. "It was a mercy that detention is all he gave me. I assure you, I'm more grateful than I could express."

Ron's jaw dropped and Harry threw her a funny glance.

"You can't be serious?" he questioned. "What'd you do?"

"Nothing worth repeating," she said without room for argument. "Anyway, hurry on down. I'll see you two later. Bring me some sugar quills if they have any."

Without waiting for further questions, Hermione turned on her heel and headed down the steps towards Snape's classroom. This was her final detention with the Potion's Master, and she was more than grateful that her two boys never bothered to know where she went the past few weekends.

Pushing open the double doors to her Defense classroom, Hermione trailed her eyes to the end of the room where Snape sat. He hardly glanced up to acknowledge her presence.

"Miss Granger, at the front-right table are supplies ready to create a batch of Sleeping Draught," he ordered, not looking up from the essay he was undoubtedly scrutinizing. "You are to take it to Madam Pomfrey after its completion. I expect no mistakes."

"Of course, sir," she murmured, walking towards the station.

She hadn't been surprised at the task, as it was something Snape had her do for the past month. She never thought to consider where all the medical potions in the Infirmary were coming from, but who else was more than capable than Hogwarts' resident Potions Master?

Rolling up her sleeves, Hermione made a note that Snape had not left any instructions for her again. He never did, as if daring her to make a mistake. Recalling the steps by heart, she moved mechanically, crushing the wormwood first, making sure they all resembled the same paste like quality before moving on.

The minutes ticked by as Hermione worked quietly, the only sound being the gentle steaming hiss of her cauldron and Snape's occasional quill scratching against his papers.

As Hermione waited for the potion to brew well into the second hour of her detention, she glanced up at solemn looking professor, a sudden question lingering in the forefront of her mind.

"Professor Snape," she called gently. When he made no sound to reply, she continued. "Did you, by chance, know anyone during your years at Hogwarts that was particularly talented in spell creation or perhaps, potions?"

It was obviously a question he had not been expecting as he raised his head, quill frozen in his hand. "And where does this inquiry come from?"

She cleared her throat, taking careful counts of how many stirs she added. "Just doing a side project, sir. I was wondering if there were any names I could search up to aid me along."

"You'll have to be more forthcoming of the details," he said slowly, as if testing every word before speaking it.

She bit her lower lip in thought. "Well… there is a certain jinx I've seen that pulls people up by their ankles. And from what I've researched, it's currently undocumented and could have possibly been created within the last twenty years—though whoever created it, never bothered to slate it as an official spell by Ministry approval."

Snape's quill stilled again, but only for a fraction of a second before continuing on. "Where did you see this spell preformed?"

"Harry told me about it, sir," she said after a moment of reluctance. "Said he saw his father preform it in a memory—"

"I assure you that Potter's father was neither competent in spell creation nor potions," he said darkly, and Hermione could have sworn there was a tone of deep bitterness.

"Yes, sir, the possibility has already been ruled out," she said, noting her potion had completed. "I suspect the student at the time was a half-blood."

She waved her wand, forcing the entire contents of the cauldron to fly out and pour itself into a large glass jar. She sealed the silvery potion with another wave and tapped the white cap to add a weightless charm for easier transportation.

Snape now looked downright dubious. "What makes you say that?"

Before she could respond, the doors behind her boomed open and Filch stalked through, eyes agleam.

"Professor Snape, a dark artifact's been brought and confiscated at the gates," he wheezed, lifting up something covered by a scarf. "A student's been cursed at Hogsmeade and was taken to the Hospital Wing. Professor McGonagall took the three likely culpri—"

Snape snapped a hand up, stopping Filch's words.

"I understand. Miss Granger, bring the potion and follow me," he commanded, rising from his seat. He strode forward, snatching the bundled object from Filch and walking out of the room.

Hermione hefted the large jar into her arms and ran on after Snape, giving Filch a wary glance.

_Someone's been cursed at Hogsmeade? _For Godric's sake, she hoped it wasn't Harry. After all, he had one of the biggest targets painted on the back of his head.

Catching up to Snape's long strides, she looked towards the package in his hands, watching him reveal the contents with a flick of his wand.

A beautiful opal necklace levitated into the air and Hermione nearly gasped at the familiar piece of jewelry.

"That's the necklace from Borgin and Burkes," she said, eyes wide. "It's said to have killed nineteen muggles."

Snape barely gave her a side-glance, studying the necklace intently. "Correct. Direct contact can cause instant death."

She paled, chest hammering as she prayed again for whoever had been attacked. Why is it that the _one_ time she wasn't with Harry and Ron, something terrible happened?

"So this was… an assassination attempt?" she asked quietly, horror bubbling in her veins.

"A rather shallow and foolish one, but one nonetheless," Snape said darkly, his eyes narrowing. There was a certain rage in his voice that Hermione had only heard once or twice.

He was truly upset.

The remaining route to the Infirmary was made in rushed silence and she could practically feel the ill intent rolling off of him in waves. Snape pushed through the doors with a dramatic fling of his hand and suddenly the air was filled with screams.

Hermione nearly faltered, recognizing the forms of Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey trying to hold down a thoroughly screeching Katie Bell. She was screaming in agony, her face contorted in pain no one else could see, her body tossing and turning, struggling against Hagrid's massive frame.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey yelled over the screams. "Quickly, now! She won't be silenced—the thrashing isn't stopping—"

Snape was already at the bedside, wand pulled out and muttering incantations too quickly for her to grasp. Within minutes, the screams turned into incoherent groans of pain and Hagrid cautiously moved aside as her legs stopped trying to kick him away.

After the thrashing stopped, Katie began to shake violently, blood spilling from her open mouth and staining the white sheets red. Her eyes had flicked open again, staring at nothing, her gaze glassy and empty. Her face was rapidly losing color, turning a sickly purple and grey and Hermione could feel the coldness from her body even from far away.

"Internal damage," Snape said clinically. "The curse is corroding her from the inside. I can stabilize it, but countering it at this point is futile."

Madam Pomfrey gasped softly. "I'll call for St. Mungo's, thank you Severus." She dashed off behind the curtains.

Snape continued working carefully, muttering under his breath as a cool light constantly emitted from the tip of his wand.

Hermione didn't realize she wasn't breathing until Hagrid noticed her.

"Hermione! Yeh all right? Don' tell me yeh were cursed too!" he stumbled over to her, eyes wide and worried.

Snapping out of the sight, she gave a deep exhale, looking away from Katie's ash cold face. "I'm fine Hagrid. I—I actually came to deliver a batch of Sleeping Draught for Madam Pomfrey."

Said matron burst from the back room, eyes trained on her as if finally realizing she was there. "Miss Granger! This is no place for a lengthy visitation."

"I apologize," she said hurriedly, "I came with Professor Snape to deliver your Sleeping Draught—I just got caught worrying about Katie."

Her eyes softened. "I understand, thank you, dear, for the potion."

Hermione handed the large jar to the elder witch, still keeping her eyes off Katie.

"Now hurry along," Madam Pomfrey waved both her hands. "The St. Mungo's team will be here soon and I believe all those to left to Hogsmeade should have returned by now."

She nodded, giving once last glance to the back of Snape's head, wondering what was going on through his head. Giving a reassuring smile to Hagrid, she slipped out the heavy door of the Infirmary, stopping dead in her tracks.

She knew the look of Katie's face would haunt her for a while, she could feel it in her bones. Terrible accidents were plentiful, especially in the wizarding world, but this… this was an attempted murder.

Releasing another deep breath, Hermione walked slowly through the halls, her mind in a blaze.

The war was right at her doorstep.

But what could she really do? At the moment, she was powerless.

A burning taste filled her mouth as she thought of Draco again. He was the perfect example of her uselessness. She could do nothing for him beyond worry for his safety.

She forced back the tears that threatened to rim her eyes once more, reminding her of her sore failure. Her feet stopped near the Transfiguration classroom, taking deep breaths in order to calm her turbulent thoughts. She stared at her shoes, needing someplace to look at in order to distract her mind.

How could she have let him down?

In the dead silence of the corridor, Hermione gave a deep exhale, shaking the depressing thoughts from her mind. Picking up her feet, she continued her trek back to the Gryffindor Tower.

She smiled at the Fat Lady as she entered, promising to stop by and have a chat with Vi sometime soon.

The common room was mostly emptied out with everyone returning from Hogsmeade, bits of snow and dirt was tracked over the carpeted floor. In the corner of the room, she saw a familiar head of red and black.

"Hermione!" Harry perked up, waving for her to come over.

She rushed ahead, dropping onto the couch with a worried expression. "There was an attack in Hogsmeade. What happened?"

"I—wait, how'd you know?" Harry frowned. "We just got back."

"I was with Snape when Filch came in with the necklace," she hurriedly explained. "Details, Harry. What happened?"

The two boys took turns narrating their normal experience to Hogsmeade and how it quickly escalated into a terrifying disaster. Everything began clicking into place as they filled in the blanks of the event.

"I saw Katie in the Infirmary," she muttered after they finished their tale. "She… well, she didn't look so good."

Harry sighed softly and Ron rubbed his hands together in a habit of anxiety.

"I just keep thinking about who the necklace was supposed to go to," Harry mumbled, eyes narrowed in thought. "Like I said earlier, since Katie was under the Imperious, she could have easily turned around and given it to me if I was her target. Ron and I were walking right behind her."

"She could have been waiting until you left Hogsmeade entirely," Ron suggested.

He shook his head, giving the redhead a glance. "No, it must have been someone at the castle. And I still think—"

"Harry, no," Ron groaned, clutching his head. "Even McGonagall said it's not possible! He was serving detention with her!"

"It has to be! It must have been him, I just don't know how!" Harry argued back.

Hermione raised an interrupting hand. "Hold on. What are you two talking about?"

Harry's eyes snapped to her. "About how—"

"It's nothing," Ron insisted, frowning too. "We might have agreed something was weird during Diagon Alley, but that doesn't mean he's going for attempted_ murder_."

"Well, I surely wouldn't put it past him," Harry retorted. "It's Malfoy we're considering after all. I think he's perfectly capable of killing someone—just like his father."

Hermione stopped breathing, feeling her mind run through on instinct. Her world seemed to turn black.

"_So this was… an assassination attempt?"_

"_A rather shallow and foolish one, but one nonetheless."_

"_I've got to do this! I have to! We're on opposites sides of the war now!"_

"_What do you think Draco could even do for the Dark Lord?"_

"_Kill someone?"_

"_My final question, Miss Granger… do you think he has the capability to kill another?"_

No.

_No._

How had she been so blind?

Since when—

"—Mione? Hermione? HERMIONE!"

As if returning from a long Occlumency session, her mind spun back to life, the common room solidifying before her eyes. Harry was on his feet and Ron had a hand on her shoulder from where he was shaking her.

Her cheeks felt wet and two drops of warm liquid pelted against the back of her hand.

"For Godric's sake, can you hear me?" Ron demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

Hermione swallowed, feeling her throat suddenly dry. She blinked, more tears falling without consent.

"I'm fine," she lied, voice scratchy. "I'm not sure what came over me—"

"Hermione, you've _never_ burst into tears for nothing," Harry argued, green eyes bright with concern. "Is… is it Malfoy? Is he worrying you?"

_Yes._

"You know," Ron whispered, eyes wide with horror. "It _could_ have been Hermione that Katie was after. She was in the castle today and Voldemort would just love to finish up his muggleborn purge starting with her."

"You're right," Harry nodded, mouth open. "It… It could have been another Sirius situation all over again. He'll attack anyone close to me."

"I was with Professor Snape," she asserted, voice still cracking. "That would have been idiotic on numerous levels."

Harry scowled. "I don't trust him, Hermione. He seemed funny ever since he got that Defense position. Besides, You've seen that Dark Mark on his forearm."

"_Don't look at it! Just accept it… this is how it's supposed to be."_

Hermione squeezed her eyes, forcing out the last bit of tears that had been clogged.

"No," she replied, wiping at her cheeks. "Listen, I just… I just got really upset when I think about how easily it could have been _you, _Harry, in the Infirmary. Or you, Ron."

Ron scrunched his face at the thought. "We—well—we're both all right, so you don't have to cry about it. I mean, it was cold as hell out there, but Harry and I survived just fine!"

"Besides," Harry said more gently. "There was nothing you could have done anyway. Neither of us had any idea either. We couldn't have stopped this."

But she did.

It was in front of her face all along, she had simply refused to see it.

"I know," she gave a meek smile. "I guess I'm being silly, huh?"

Both boys looked relieved at her smile and gave one in return.

"Anyhow, I think I'd be horrified myself if I died because of a piece of jewelry," Ron joked. "What's my mum going to write on my epitaph? '_Death by necklace.'? _No thanks."

Harry chuckled. "Exactly. And I highly doubt Voldemort would be too pleased if some opal stones killed me when his Killing Curse couldn't do the job. Doesn't say much about him, eh?"

She smacked them upside the head, giving a sharp sigh. "That's not something to joke about! Merlin, you two are going to be the death of me!"

Ron gave a grin as he turned to look at Harry, then back to her. "At least it won't be a necklace."

The sound of Harry's boisterous laughter filled the common room.

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* * *

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Bonus Chapter 4: The Mission

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The door behind him closed with a resounding _clang_, trapping Draco inside the long room with only one man for company.

A man he once thought he admired, who was now the last person he wanted to see.

Voldemort was still sitting down at the head of the table, his enormous snake hissing at his side.

The room felt unnaturally cold and Draco realized with a spark of terror that it was the sheer pressure of his magic. It was suffocating just to stand there.

"Draco, Draco," Voldemort began, drawling out his name like a song. "It has been some time since our last meeting, but I'm sure you remember our first encounter just last year?"

"Of course, my Lord," he replied mechanically.

There was no way he could forget the sight of the Voldemort himself walking through the Malfoy Manor at the beginning of Christmas break. His father had been thoroughly punished for his 'slippery ways', and made a clean demonstration of what happened to those who disappointed the Dark Lord.

The only good part of that break was leaving with his mother and somehow running into Hermione at a muggle skiing resort.

How simple things were in those days.

"Then you must know that I am displeased, Draco," Voldemort rose to his full height, easily towering over him. His red eyes narrowed into slits. "Lucius has failed me again."

His heart rate shot up like lighting and it took all his will power not to cave onto his knees. How was one man capable of such an overwhelming force?

"I… am not aware of the details," he forced out, careful with every word he spoke. "My father spoke to me of nothing."

"As he should have," he replied, turning his back to Draco. "I had given him ten of my most loyal followers, yet he led them straight into the mouth of Azkaban—where he will remain until I decide otherwise."

Draco said nothing, choosing to swallow back the thick sense of fear.

"I will never forget, but I will never linger," he continued, turning around to face him once more. He cocked his head, a slight tug on the corner of his mouth. "There are many more pieces for me to move, Draco, and you are one of my most resourceful. Tell me—there is a man who resides in Hogwarts and he is someone I must dispose of at all costs."

"Harry Potter," he immediately said.

Voldemort looked contemplative. "A narrow thought. Potter is a mere smudge that I will personally remove. Think larger."

His chest tightened at the sudden pressure and the next name came out in a bare whisper. "Albus Dumbledore."

The dark wizard before him gave something akin to a smile. "You are correct. Dumbledore has been a thorn in my side since my own days at Hogwarts. It is time for him to go."

Draco felt like he couldn't breathe. The implication was right there but he didn't dare voice it out loud.

"I want to give you a chance, Draco," Voldemort offered, his voice sounding like a low hiss. "A chance to succeed where your father has failed me."

His hands started to shake, and he clenched them tightly, trying to hide the tremor underneath his robes. "What shall I do, my Lord?"

"Your task is simple," Voldemort replied. "Kill Albus Dumbledore."

It was impossible.

Draco couldn't lie to himself. He might have always said how Dumbledore was an aging old coot that was more delirious than sane, but inwardly, he knew how strong the wizard was. Dumbledore was considered the only man Voldemort ever feared. And for good reason.

How was he supposed to match up to _that_?

"Your hesitation is understandable," Voldemort said slowly, red eyes looking into the depths of his soul. "But my men do _not_ hesitate. My orders are absolute and my word is law. This task is yours and yours only, Draco. Do you understand what that means?"

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of his stomach. "I can receive no help."

"You're a smart boy," he commended. "So do not think I am leaving you with an impossible task. When summer arrives, you will receive the proper training Lucius should have taught you long ago."

The Dark Arts.

How could he turn back now?

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort gave a wicked stretch of his mouth. "There will be no room for failure. Any attempt, any move, any word about this task—I will always know."

Faces passed through the back of his mind and he felt a shiver run through his spine. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott—they were all families in Voldemort's circle. He was surrounded. Nowhere was safe.

Even Snape.

His nails dug into the palm of his hand at the thought, chest so tight that it felt impossible to breathe.

He couldn't trust anyone.

_Hermione is safe._

Draco immediately banished the thought, wondering how it managed to slip through his shields. He had stuffed all emotions and thoughts of her to the deepest recess of his mind.

A long, skinny finger forced his chin up and Draco stared into cold, red eyes. "Don't be hesitant," Voldemort said almost gently, a mock smile on his mouth. "Narcissa will be in my safe hands while you are gone."

Draco didn't know when he last took a breath.

His mother.

It was a clear threat.

He swallowed numbly, feeling unable to speak. This wasn't a task for him at all.

This was a suicide mission.

"I won't fail you, my Lord," he said strongly, sounding much more bolder than he felt. What other choice did he have?

Voldemort raised his wand, extending out an open hand in a form of invitation. "Abandon your old ways, Draco. It's time you step into the destiny you were always meant for. You will serve as a solider of mine in this war."

This was it.

He raised his left arm, slowly placing the back of his hand against Voldemort's open palm. A long black wand hooked under his sleeve and pushed it back, revealing the clean, pale skin of his forearm.

"Be proud," he whispered, lowering the tip of his wand. "Not even Severus was your age when he received this high honor."

Draco had nothing else to say. He felt utterly empty.

There was a murmured incantation before an incredible burn began to grow on his forearm. It felt like skin was on fire and dunked in scalding acid. His entire body felt violated with the thickness of his magic, intertwining with his.

He could never go back.

_Not to her._

Biting down on his tongue, Draco held absolutely still, holding back the pain with his mental shields. He could not waver. He could not fall.

At last, Voldemort lifted his wand, but the burning did not fade.

"You will Apparate to my side when I call you," he ordered. "And be mindful, Draco. You are my representation now."

"Yes, my Lord."

He gave a pleased hum. "Leave with Severus. I will expect you at the start of summer."

Giving a deep bow, Draco spun on his heel, walking towards the only entrance and exit in the room. With his right hand, he pushed open the heavy door, feeling red eyes bore into his back as he walked. His left arm still burned.

The door shut behind him with a resounding _clang _and a large shadow moved towards him, the ray of moonlight revealing the face of his Head of House.

Before the Potions Master could utter a word, Draco spoke quietly. "Will you take me to St. Mungo's?"

Understanding drew through his black eyes. "There is nothing you can do."

"A final request, sir," he said breathlessly. "Will you Apparate me there?"

After a beat of silence, something in his will seemed to cave. "Very well."

With a swish of his dark cloak, Snape turned and began walking out of Manor. Draco followed wordlessly after. As they left through the iron gates, Snape gave out his arm and he held onto it without hesitation. In a disorientating warp, they flashed out of the dark street.

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A/N: Hello! I updated! Sorry for being a bit late this month. Things are getting very busy. I left this author's note last for this chapter because I have good news and bad news. The good news, is that this story hit 1k (all thanks to you guys!), and I'm overjoyed beyond words. All your support and words of encouragement are like squishy warm hugs that I get to receive every chapter. For the celebratory one-shot, I've gotten all those logged in users who reviewed chapter 27 up until today, and will enter it through a random generator. Keep an eye out at your PM because I'll be doing that in the next few days! You will have 24 hours to answer back until I generate a new name. Details will be sent in the PM.

Now, the bad new is—I'm putting Inverse on hiatus. But don't be sad! I mean that updates are going to be quite sporadic from now on. Uni is picking up, it's job application season, and I've just got so much that's getting juggled on my plate. I suspect my once-a-month updates will be stretched into two, or maybe even three months until I can get my shit together. I want to give you guys my best quality of writing, and sacrificing that for the sake of updating speed isn't worth it to me. If you're really curious, you can shoot me a message through tumblr to see the ETA of the next chapter.

Will see you guys soon. As always, thanks for the love.

El


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